Media Flaws

I’ve never been one for public speaking. But there I was in the midst of a room filled with delegates at this year’s Entrepreneurship Development Conference in Durban. All eyes on me, earnestly awaiting my presentation – Tapping Business Opportunities in Media Markets.

My presentation was cross-disciplinary in nature drawing on tenets of basic journalism, English writing and current affairs. I delivered information on how to produce recorded sound productions such as radio features, radio dramas, entertainment reports for global and local media markets. I spent some time delving on issues of narrative journalism and the return of radio dramas in South Africa. I then further shared tips on advancing career opportunities and networking within media markets. Seeing that I’m currently studying advanced web design (evening classes) – I also shed some light on e-companies (businesses set-up online to do business online – e-shops). I also guided young delegates on how to spot business opportunities in fields of web design and subtle pitching. Freelancing was the key part of my presentation – and thank you to Les Aupiais and Michal Rahfald for providing me with their expertise via recorded sound clips, in which they spoke about their freelance careers and network strategies.

One would think some of the things I dealt with were common knowledge but upon discussion, I realised that my audience which was predominantly black, was not fully aware of these strategies and opportunities, especially international media markets. My freelance work has been and continues to engage with international markets. And as we approach 2010 we need to realise the power and contribution of the media across all its disciplines. It’s journalists that have the power to attract and change perspectives from international crowds. How we report our issues will be key in attracting more 2010 crowds. So as we continue harbouring moronic journalists who continue to export crime, poverty and confusion, we are actually closing doors. As one would expect of me, I contrary to popular belief, did not shed any ad hominem attacks this time. Let’s just say I was an optimist.

After speaking I then met and spoke to a large number of media entrepreneurs – most of them from Johannesburg (of course). Johannesburg young blacks never cease to amaze me when it comes to their economic drive and zeal to make money. They are simply on another level and I can only congratulate them.

One of the highlights of my day, was when I arrived at the Durban airport. There sat a 33-year-old lady, dressed in black and very down-to-earth looking. We took the same shuttle to the Durban ICC and sort of had a brief conversation. At the time I didn’t know what she did – she mentioned something along the lines of aviation. Lo and behold as the morning talks panned out – she took to the stage. Her name: Sibongile Sambo. She is currently the owner and managing director of SRS aviation and is the first black woman to own an aviation company in South Africa. For more on her, visit: www.srsaviation.co.za. SRS are her initials by the way. I’m truly greatful to have met and shared a word with her and am damn proud of her achievements.

It’s been a long day and I really need to get some sleep. I don’t think I’ll be cruising the streets of Durban tonight, maybe tomorrow. <yawn>

At first I thought she was joking. “Maybe we should go out for coffee soon!” she said. Coffee!!!? This was the beginning of many more odd coffee requests. And soon I found myself sitting in coffee shops with friends. Ever since I came to Cape Town I’ve fast-realised how important that non-significant Nescafé is in these parts of the country. Heck, East London barely has coffee shops (maybe Mugg & Bean), but Butterworth has no such luxuries.

Now here comes the problem. In all these odd coffee outing requests I always struggle to tell people I really don’t like coffee and derive no pleasure from drinking it. But somehow one realizes, like smoking, that coffee is some form of a social lubricant too. You are likely to find the best network opportunities in coffee shops, especially in the media industry – where film and TV gurus muse over cappuccinos and skinny lattés all day long.

And then there is wine. Something I first met at a random University residence formal gathering. I stared at a beautiful bottle of wine and watched those elegant looking students indulge. Needless-to-say I was frantically looking around for any signs of a beer or whiskey. Nope, they weren’t serving that that night. Just wine. I finally convinced myself that it couldn’t be that bad, afterall it’s made of grapes and what’s the worst that could happen. I grabbed a glass and generously filled it. Did I mention I was using the wrong glass? The white wine glass - instead of the red wine glass (who makes up this stuff anyway – a glass is a glass). Well, I was, but I just didn’t care.

I took a suspicious look around and quickly swigged it. Lo and behold, I couldn’t breathe. What the hell was that stuff? I ducked under the table, as if tying my shoelaces and spat the wine back into the glass. Not a very mannerly thing to do, but saved my life regardless. I got up. Headed towards the sliding door and threw it all out – including the glass. I returned and sat, puzzled, as the others seemed to be enjoying this most-horrendous drink named wine.

Things like wine are a bit foreign to me. At the book fair this weekend, I purchased a copy of Kopano Matlwa’s “Coconut” whilst her Jacana publishing associates gladly dispensed wine – I declined it, to which I was met with a bewildered stare and chuckling murmurs from some I’m-from-Obs-looking dreadlocked crowd. Heck, in the Eastern Cape wine is reserved for ‘bergies’ and you’d never be caught dead with a glass of that Cape red mampoer. And lately I seem to be mixing with intelligent crowds, from as far as the wine industry. Some of these experts are trying to find ways to introduce wine to rising black middle classes. Their aim is to get young blacks and families to enjoy a glass of wine or two during dinners, and even get them collecting the stuff.

Eek! Maybe I lack the class and distinction when it comes to the grey areas of coffee and wine.

Opened my inbox this morning and I was greeted by this warning: "There is a dangerous virus being passed around electronically, orally, and by hand. This virus is called Worm-Overload-Recreational-Killer (WORK).

If you receive WORK from any of your colleagues, students, or anyone else via any means DO NOT TOUCH IT. This virus will wipe out your private life completely.

If you should come into contact with WORK put your jacket on and take two good friends to the nearest bottle store. Purchase an antidote known as Work-Isolating-Neutralizer-Extract (WINE) or Bothersome-Employer-Elimination-Rebooter (BEER). Take the antidote repeatedly until WORK has been completely eliminated from your system. Researchers, including the great Vavi and Blade, have been working day and night to concoct a vaccine. It's in its trail phase and has already been named the "Strike .07" This vaccine is said to be the greatest since 1985 and could potentially save thousands from WORK."

I’d like to think I don’t drink on Sundays but as I watched the news on SABC 3 I wasn’t so sure anymore. There was the news anchor telling me that I had spent five years of my life threading on a grave site! Slave graves to be exact!

It’s enough that I had to stare at a Cecil Rhodes figure every time I approached those heavenly Jammie stairs. A Rhodes figure that probably wondered everyday of my passing: “Now what does he want on my turf!?” Talking about overcoming the guilt trip of trespassing on Rhodes land, I now have to discover that Middle campus is not just Kramer Building, Bremner, Woolsack, All Africa house and the tennis courts – it’s actually a graveyard. Explains why I lost most of the tennis games I played on those courts. The ancestors were not too pleased with me running around, chasing a green ball on their graves. Prof. Martin Hall confirmed that this indeed was a grave site and that UCT would not be embarking on extensive exhumations, but would rather put up a memorial plaque.

All fair, but wait, let’s think about this. If the world somehow discovered that some World War II veterans were buried under your shack or say school, what do you think they’d do? Exhume and give the vets a proper burial on a more decent site? I really feel like arguing further but time does not permit and work seems to be piling up…tralalala…lala…lala, etcetera…

“Do you believe in Jesus?” I look around hoping that I’m not the intended recipient of this awkward conversational start-up. Nope, there was no-one around – just me. It’s 7am and I cowardly decided to take a breather on my jog to gym. Little did I know that the man approaching me, as I panted, bore some ‘good news’: “Er, what kind of question is that?” He goes silent and then replies: “It’s a question of sincerity and establishing brotherhood in our tattered world...” Christ, do I have to be having a conversation of this nature at this hour of day. I took a deep breath, tried to establish if the gent was serious and then mustered what little energy I had and jogged away.

I’m sure that’s happened to you too, just maybe not at 7am. I could have stood there and received these good news. But religion is something that really bugs me. At times I’ve resided in calling myself an agnostic soul - others would call me an atheist. Why you’d attach such a label to someone who hasn’t even defined himself is beyond me. But then again such is the nature and argumentation around religion. Once logic or reason fails, the next step is to label it (as evil), denounce it as wrong simply because you lack the understanding and are still stuck in those childhood indoctrinations imposed upon you in Sunday School.

Lately our newspapers have been flooded with the great debates of atheism taking over. Authors like Sam Harris and Richard Dawson* are polemically defending their views of a god-less world, even dismissing religions as meaningless and desperately conceived mechanisms of escaping reality. Read one of their books and you’re sure as hell to start contemplating your religious devotions. So, it would be best not to read them. But the question lingers on as more and more scientists try to outdo Darwin’s evolutionary theories – try as hard as they can to prove that we, human beings, were not created. We evolved from some random ape.

So does God exist? What is this religious brouhaha that reeks of wishful thinkers tackling realists like Dawson*? Some go as far as saying religion is just something to keep us all sane; without which morality would fly out the doors and we’d be living in the most unimaginable barbaric age. Imagine a world without religion. I can. I mean imagine a world without suicide bombers, a clear-headed George Bush (I know that impossible, but for arguments sake consider it) and all other religious extremists would be non-existent. The cons though: would human beings be able to cope without this sense of purpose and adulation to serve something/someone.

As always there’s something or someone to blame. Most blame education. One tends to find that the more and more people get educated, enlightened, informed or whatever else – the more and more they tend to see things for what they really are. There is no spiritual this and that just fact. Worst off are doctors, scientists and psychologists. They are forced to understand that things such as ‘supernatural’ are non-existent. Heck a friend of mine who’s now a doctor always manages, when drunk, to say things like: “When you lying on that operating table, bleeding to death, who’s your god then?”

I’d dread to think it’s him!

* suname error - see comments for correct surname...

If this blog was a child, it would have long-died of malnutrition. What with daddy flirting around with other mediums of expression, going as far as being called a citizen journalist, sowing his creative oats in the wild digital domains that subject him to public scrutiny.

Well daddy's back and today I'll be observing the public servants strike. Is it just me or are strikes in fashion this year? "Get yours too!" "Do one, get one free..."

Let’s clarify this from the onset: I am in favour of the strike!

But. Yes there’s a but. There’s a disturbing trend which I’ve long yearned to point out. Strikes are no longer what they used to be. Khutsong is a startling example of a strike missing the point. By strikes I’m referring to ‘itoyi-toyi’ – yes the “hay’, hay’…” “Come guerilla…” Back then strikes were fully justified. But now, you’d think we’d have the insight to avoid such extremes. But no, we have a Geraldine Fraser-Moleketi who seems to be mastering the craft of talking rubbish with a straight face. You’d be forgiven for thinking she’s deaf, but upon closer inspection you’d be wrong, she lacks listening skills and a lot more I wouldn’t dare state here.

The sad reality of it all is that strikes are still rooted around racial stereotypes and it’s not hard to see why. A white public servant will take the today's strike as a holiday, spend it at home until the strike is over. That’s if they even bother staying away from work. Meanwhile the black caucus of the strike, will go out of their way picking what to wear and which clique they’ll be hanging out with as they re-inforce their most-justified cause to date. The sad reality is that strikes are unnecessary nowadays. Leading me to enquire if stikes are addictive? – I mean given a chance to strike everyday - South Africans (and Capetonians) would take full-advantage of that. Look what COSATU and crew did to Plein street last year – they literally had a blast and would probably do it all over again. I’m actually beating about the bush trying to find a gentle way of saying what I really want to say, but there’s no easy way.

What the hell is wrong with black teachers!? And black schools!? There’s no other way of classifying them in this instance. I’m talking about the township and rural schools of South Africa. Walk into the city and you’ll see cheerful kids walking to their former model-C schools. You’ll see suburbia kids in classes as these strikes proceed. Take a taxi to the township schools and you’ll think you’re the main actor in one of those cowboy movies where the protagonist stands alone in a dusty field. Nothing! Squat! While these township teachers go on strike, a big, big, blow is being dealt to the education of the young black future minds. The ones who NEED this education thing, are the one’s who now have to sit at home and play ‘ugqaphu’ (skipping ropes) or channel their boredom into shebeens. Teachers, of all people, should not strike! Black people need to get that into their heads. Teaching is not a job, it’s calling. You cannot. Other public servants can go wild and burn cities if they will – at least it’ll give us an opportunity to see them doing something for a change. But teachers cannot!

Let’s see. With a title like that one is definitely guaranteed a rant that will leave all races in South Africa feeling numb. But I’ll spare you that rod and instead indulge you with a little summary of a talk I attended last week. It was another Harold Wolpe Trust seminar - which I miraculously managed to squeeze into my insomnia-fueled nocturnal activities.

The title was Prophets of Africa's Renaissance? South Africa and Nigeria in Africa. The speaker: Dr Adekeye Adebajo from the Centre of Conflict Resolution (I’m still clueless on what these guys do!). Dr Adebajo's respondent was Prof Chris Landsberg from the Centre of Policy Studies in Jo’burg – who so happens to have a prominent position in the infamous Native Club (How do I join!?).

Dr Adebajo, in some hasty state, briefly outlined Nigeria’s first change of a civilian government in April 2007 and further explored whether or not South Africa and Nigeria can act as prophets of Africa’s renaissance to play a leadership role in promoting democracy through the AU, SADC and spearheading partnership through NEPAD. Using biblical-like analogies that depicted Madiba, Mbeki, Obasanjo and Abaja as prophets, he then proceeded to compare and contrast their leadership styles and flaws. Adebajo further dipped into history to divulge the souring relations between Nigeria and South Africa during Madiba’s reign.

Another point that came as a surprise was that Madiba was fast-adopting a messiah-complex amongst Westerners and was also used as a Trojan Horse to control/bully African countries such as Nigeria. African leaders were fast-becoming irritated with Madiba’s ways, and resigning, some would say retiring, was the best possible solution. And Mbeki, the stern scholar, was the obvious successor. With Madiba’s flaws and bundle-ups amongst African states – it becomes clear that Mbeki’s quiet diplomacy is not a strategy but a precautionary measure to ensure that he too does not end up as a Western puppet amongst other African states. So this is why there’s been this quiet diplomacy?

Dr Adebajo then proceeded to paint this pristine picture of Nigeria and how companies such as MTN, Steers, Nu-Metro have managed to worm their way into Nigeria - reaping heavenly profits whilst bruising local businesses. Little was said about the newly-elect Nigerian president – who happens to be a pharmaceuticals or is it chemistry graduate? - ironic considering Nigeria’s image of being…

Prof Landberg took on the podium and didn’t do much but praise Mbeki as the father of NEPAD and the strongest leader in Africa. Landberg touched briefly on a forthcoming conference that will navigate around the Gaddafi proposed U.S.A - the United States of Africa – A Federation of Africa’s 53 states. Isn’t it 54? Anyway, still on the Mbeki appraisal tip (something quite rare nowadays) Landberg further outlined Mbeki’s proposition of unionising these 53 states instead of Federalising them, and still maintaining their independence but somehow moving to a common constitutionalism. Sounds good. We'll have to wait until the 8^th July (conference in Ghana) to see heads nod towards Africa mimicking the United States model.

Anyway still on an African solidarity tip – Click here to read a little surprise reading gift from me to you.

What a way to start a day. In some vague moment last week – I sent another news24 submission. Click here to read it. If your're too lazy to read it there; I simply wrote a piece on how I refuse to be an ostentatious bugger and see no benefits of flaunting around in benz's. All’s fair and well until comments trickled in. I was quite amused by some of the responses, particularly the ones that revealed a discerning level of not understanding the concept of column writing. I was not writing a report – if anything I was being my usual self with a slight intention to insight.

I wasn't hellbent on ad hominem attacks this time. So by mention of parliament cats and benz-enabled brothers, I was merely forwarding my agenda of 'ishori.' If you can afford materialistic possessions, knock yourself out. As for the parliament cats, actually I doubt they were, I wasn't really listening to them except one can’t help but hear, especially when they’ve made it their life-goal to ensure that everyone hears them speak. And then there were those who demanded better journalism/ black journalism (what the hell is that?) – as my subject choice is 'overdone'. I’m too lazy to do that – go do it yourselves, I’ll stick to what tickles me. Overall the comments were quite open-minded and supportive, but those in negation revealed some naïve, seriously flawed mentalities. Here are some of the negative quotes:

“I learned very early that racism generates harmful psychological constructs that both blind you and alienate your consciousness - unfortunately this Kondile character is a perfect example of that. He is talking absolute nonsense!”

“Your point please? There is nothing new here. Your choice of topic has been done to death! You could have been a bit amusing, but in the end you are just blabbing on and on about nothing…”

“look here okay what drives me mad about this article is like we as you call us black people are all the same think the same do not harbour any ambitions whatso ever bull okay those two guys do not reprent me as an individual i have my own aspirations and dreams if they were talking about girls and all that is their business but to base your article on that please not all old men are like that beside you can never talk about serious stuff all the time so chill damn!!”

And the all classic: “Poor soul, you were never loved when you were young. and now you r eavesdropping other ppl's convesation that has nothing to do with you. I'm a product of bantu education, and I'm successful. Just b'cos you can't afford a bottle of Jonny Walker doesnt mean we can't. Get a life bhuti, and drive your chicco without airbags”

Anyway! Today I actually meant to blog about the growth of Media Flaws and the sudden demand – for me to do something about it. If it’s of any consolation Media Flaws will be taking things to the next level. Fast approaching 100 posts/article/ramblings and a staggering 24 730 readership (or shall I say hits). Media Flaws will now converge to the world of books. Don’t be surprised if you see this blog in book form. It will however require a tremendous amount of editing and linking stories. Nonetheless – I look forward to it all!

I was having a chuckle with a former editor - who's now moved to greener pastures. The chuckle stemmed from UCT's continued efforts to address issues of transformation as well as race politics amongst staff and students. It's been years now, but all we can reflect on are the philosophical talks and exponential wealth of promising academic talk. So on Tuesday - I decided to have lunch on upper campus instead - in the process I found myself in the NSLT building, listening to Achille Mbembe's lunchtime talk.

Later that day I scribbled a few big words which I sent of to News24 - and pow they published it - so no need to blog it. Check it out here. Saves me some blog space J

I smell a rat! In the Chihuahua club that is. Zille, the last time I spoke to her, was on some hallucinogenic tip of erasing race from the discourses of South African reformative measures. Even insinuating that blacks need to take off their race blinkers and not see things as black and white. Last week she was humming a tune that sought to make decisions and debates issue-based rather than being influenced by identity politics. I agree with her on that - sounds all fair and well, but has anyone heard her latest tune?- Tony Leon must be fulminating and choking on his spit. Zille has now screechingly changed route and is humming something along the lines of her party being in full support of Affirmative Action and Black Economic Empowerment, and now all of a sudden feels a compulsion of sorts not to ignore past discriminations. Talk about backstabbing - this goes against her parties delusive dreams of scrapping Affirmative Action et al? Was she waiting for her inevitable God-Zille status to be confirmed prior to unleashing the neo-liberal within?

I don't buy it! I still smell a rat. I've been monitoring some of the Zille
appraisals and my oh my has she been glorified to a point of near godliness in South Africa's political scene - nothing but lousy ass-kissers stuck in some nostalgia and longing for an all-white governance. If I knew less I'd actually be fooled into believing that she was the neo-Mother Theressa of South Africa.

Meanwhile as the Chihuahua club (DA) glows or grows as a noise making nuisance, the ANC is riddled by a suicidal Zuma who is hogging all forms of media limelight. The media seems to be entertaining his antics! Knowing how right-winged our media is - it is plain to see that Zuma is not a newsworthy subject but a newsworthy avenue to tarnish president Mbeki's image. Imagine if you will, you're seated in the presidential guesthouse, staring at Rene Magritte's Ceci n'est pas une pipe (This is not a Pipe) and Blue Label giving up the walk, succumbing to being dispensed for inebriation-sake. 'Imagine' being the key-word in what follows...

" I wonder what I've ever done to those imbeciles!?" with a sincere gesture of confusion "I mean nothing I ever do is ever, ever acknowledged. I've strengthened relationships with foreign investors, I've allowed the Health department to squander funds on their hypochondriac cases - AIDS victims, I'm trying to deal with crime - even though some forget who started the mess of inequalities. And Charles, is trying too, he's tapped into private security companies to poach 30 000 of their best to help. I weeded out the sex pests and soap-endorsers . I'm doing my best to redress poverty. I abandoned GEAR, and AsgiSA is doing well!" at this stage you sense a certain level of unnerving talk, as he readies himself for his next shot of Blue Label.

"But no, all they see is an aloof me! A me that undermines the
constitutional court. A me that's jet set. I bet you if Madiba was still
president no one would winge about these things - given a chance he'd be doing the exact same things. Eternally greatful buggers would probably blame themselves for this countries mess than dare challenge their saviour - their knight in Robben Island armour."

Pipe in hand, takes a deep drag, holds and continues with smoke churning out in rings, "But then again the media is still white dominated and naturally perpetuates a racist mediated reality that will only seek flaws in a black governancy and will never acknowledge competency in the natives!" Puts pipe down, in his irritable tone mumbles, "really annoy me... And what's wrong with congratulating a new-president-elect in Nigeria!? How he was elected is none of my business - I'm doing my job by mereley extended my congratulations to a new African head of state! Argh!" Empties pipe, stares blanky at Magritte's painting, suddenly lifts the near-empty Blue Label and walks out.

There's really something wrong here. Everytime a journalist or columnist submits something that's anti-Mbeki, it's published instantaneously. Everytime a journalist or columnist submits something that's pro-Mbeki or paints the government in a bright glow - it's ditched, it doesn't get aired. The only one's who bother are the SABC and they're getting serious slack for merely reporting issues that purport to the NATIONAL government of the day.

Eish, how did I get into this area? I was actually writing about the Chihuahua club’s worrying indecisiveness and unscrupulous tactics, to lure black voters, to get more and more power for their seemingly power-hungry Zeal, I mean Zille.

Here I am armed to the teeth with med-lemons, panados, vicks and all other medication that would make any pharmacy look sparsely stocked in comparison. I’m stuck in bed, sniffing my way through a bland, yet gripping, JM Coetzee read.

The reading bug got me in grade 10 when my English teacher, Mr Thorpe, whipped out J.D Salinger’s - Catcher in the Rye. It was love at first line as Holden puked his way through phonies to eventually get to his fall. Having read that I later submitted an essay that got my teacher really worked up, he couldn’t even contain his emotions as he yelled something along the lines of: “Nonsense! You lousy youth are no different than us – you’re stuck with the same problems we had! Nonsense! Kondile! You cannot make such unfounded statements!” From that day I never ever wrote about the topic of societal changes. A few days ago I was chuckling myself through lines from Martin Amis’s 1987 Einstein’s Monster:

“…the world looks worse everyday. It is worse, or does it just look it? The world is getting older. The world has seen and done it all. Boy, its beat. It’s suicidal. Like (a prostitute) the world has done too many things too many times with too many people, done it this way, done it that way, with him, with him. The world has been to so many parties, been in so many fights, lost its keys, had its handbag stolen, fallen over, drunk too much. It all adds up. A tab is presented - Our ironic destiny. Look at the modern infamies, the twentieth-century sins. Some strange, some banal, but they all offend the eye, covered in their vernix. Gratuitous or recreational crimes of violence, the ever-less-tacit totalitarianism of money (money – what is this sh** anyway?), the pornographic proliferation, the nuclear collapse of the family (with breeders all going supercritical, and now the children running too), the sappings and distortions of a mediated reality, the sexual abuse of the very old man and the very young (of the weak, the weak): what is the hidden denominator here, and what could explain it all?

“… We live in a shameful shadowland. Quietly, our idea of human life has changed, thinned out. We can’t help but think less of it now. The human race has declassed itself. It does not live anymore, it just survives, like an animal. We endure the suicide’s shame, the shame of the murderer, the shame of the victim. Death is all we have in common. And what does that do to life?” - Martin Amis

Coincidentally my grade 10 essay was along these line, except I presented this all as new challenges facing present day youth. I wish I’d kept a copy. Clearly I was wrong if Martin Amis had written the same thing twenty years ago. So I guess Mr Thorpe had a point and I was terribly wrong in assuming, in a 500-word essay, that the world had changed and that we faced bigger problems than our parents - it’s still same old same old. I need more tissues, argh, I hate being sick {sniff}.

Vicki wouldn’t spill it, and then the Monday Paper dished it… Hmm, now when you break something, right? (are you still with me?), you fix that particular broken something, right? And not things around it that aren’t broken. Let me simplify this further: when you actively disadvantage someone via race, you will then counter or fix that disadvantage via race, right? (or am I wrong?). The basis of disadvantaging and being labelled previously disadvantaged is based on the fundamental flaws created by the architects of apartheid. It is indeed historical and not biological! As much as we would like to delude ourselves into believing that ‘affirmative action involves taking positive steps to avoid discrimination, to ensure that opportunities are open to ALL and that fair standards of selection are used’ it doesn’t work like that YET. At present, it serves to fix/mend the broken something. Apologies for being overly-simplistic, but having subjected myself to Prof. Benatar’s mind-job of an article I can’t help but expatiate superfluously to ensure he too can grasp my drift.

There’s no such thing as being partially previously disadvantaged. Those who were in exile and educated their kids in good schools – were also disadvantaged – hence they were in exile – Jesus, you’d think this was obvious! Most of Benatar’s writing does not reflect any creativity just a vague rhetorical expose – that cleverly depresses and suppresses any form of cogent counter arguments. Staging arguments around the epidemic of how black scholars got to where they are is complete non-sense and speculation. Do you know how many sacrifices were made to advantage/skill those who are now scholars and well educated. No you don’t and can only base whatever arguments on whatever minute random sampling and quantitative research. Whilst were on it, there’s no such thing as self-classification! Such liberal thought will get us nowhere. I never heard of any self classification in the days of apartheid. I’m not saying we should go back to apartheid methodologies to resolve these imbalances but am merely asking if it’s hardly possible to address these imbalances without bringing the underlying theme of race into the equation? Afterall, the actual cause was race-based?

Benatar is a classic example of passively moaning about the state of things, whilst failing to actively seek and address alternative solutions, hence he ends by stating that ‘it might help to focus the mind on more appropriate methods of rectification’?? Where’s the solution in that?

And then there was Prof. Hall – His response: a classic example of placing broccoli in an ice-cream cone and expecting the child to enjoy it. They say birds of a feather flock together – one bird in this case had an armour of euphemisms, whilst heading in the same direction. At least Prof. Hall made more sense than Prof. Benatar. Another point I liked was that ‘The criteria for selection/ appointment are academic and professional excellence, and that any candidate recommended must meet the requirements for appointment in question.’ But then goes to admit that diversity and race will play a role. Huh?... Anyway, Prof. Hall cleverly includes history, which Benatar convieniently disregards and smugishly blows off as a pseudo-science of sorts.

Sidetrack: This is not Investec or some giant auditing/accounting firm. Your selection criteria cannot be heavily based on race, ignoring skill and qualification. In an academic institution – there are standards to maintain. It defies logic to even insinuate that one can be employed solely because of their state of being previously disadvantaged. Same applies for students - they might have had lower entrance requirements but will attend the same lectures be examined equally and gain the same degrees. This whole employing or selecting on race could work for accounting firms because their previously disadvantaged candidates can easily be relegated to minute projects and simple 'ticking and bashing' or balancing balance sheets. But here we are talking about major responsibilities around higher education.

Back to Benator and his retraction: I’ve never seen such selective blindness? I can’t phantom how he even attempted to tackle an issue such as affirmative action, whilst being oblivious to a fundamental feature which he conveniently terms a pseudo-scientific concept. Where’ve you been? And then a tad bit of philosophical thinking on truths and equity emerges along the lines of his arguments. <<Yawn>>

I’d rather watch paint dry than subject myself to such. Or maybe I'm missing the point completely and just reading what I want to hear.

There I was shooting the breeze in some unplanned beerhall forum, in Gugs, and as you guessed it the topic was not quite stolid – although I’ll admit it was thought provoking and quite polemical, to say the least, but I was quite non-responsive. I guess it’s in my phlegmatic nature not to precociously challenge the often-garrulous gents that frequent beerhalls. I let them have it – this time it was Cho, the South Korean who literally dug hell in Virgina Tech’s soil.

Cho, possibly a byblow of some unplanned romantic late night session which led to a lack of parental love and extensive child abuse, was a victim of his own doing (and possibly Quentin Tarantino's ideal dream), or so we would like to believe, but I somehow always attribute violence in men to some overspill of something else. And so the unstable element radically broke out of Virginia Tech’s nucleus in the midst of unsuspecting neutrinos. Strange how many are now radically breaking out, stating that the excrescences of violence in Cho were vividly symptomatic, but were ignored.

Having watched Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine, I’ve always been convinced that every third store in the U.S sells ammunition and that every American family owns a machine gun. This was further reinforced in my student days when I worked for an online gambling site set up for bored U.S citizens – I handled their queries/problems (to put it midly) on the phone. You’d be amazed at how many times they threatened to personally fly to Africa and shoot me out of whichever bush I was sitting under. At times it got so bad, I even struggled to phantom such anger over the phone. You think they’re violent? You bet.

Which then brings me to the tragic irony, if not pathetic irony, that the U.S faces – Guns galore. I doubt many U.S citizens would qualify for guns in South Africa, not just because gun stores are as scarce as a chicken’s teeth, but the stringent assessments we carry out this side, would render them gun-less for life.

Moving away from violence, I’m sure the Muslim community that side is breathing heavy sighs of relief “thank goodness he’s not one of us”. But alas, knowing Bush, he’s probably contemplating the unthinkable on behalf of his citizens. Don’t be surprised if claims of nuclear ammunition in South Korea start surfacing.

Now I feel sorry for South Koreans that side. In my sorry state I feel further sorry for the media’s handling of this uncommon, fast-becoming common occurrence. As usual the media has disgracefully exalted Cho – to a point where I’m still in the foggiest mist of cluelessness when it comes to naming any of his victims; all I know is that there were 32. They’re just numbers. But Cho has fast become an icon of sorts. Say that name backwards in my sleep and I’ll tell you his Pulp Fictionous life story, what he didn’t eat for breakfast, I’ll even tell you he had a 9mm Glock pistol and .22 Walter semi-automatic. But I’d dismally fail to even tell you what one of his victims was wearing or who the professor he shot was.

Whew, so that was the conversation I was having in my head, but I couldn’t deny the fast-becoming boisterous raconteurs the pleasure of murdering the Cho topic, especially knowing that I could later voice my point of view here.

This one's for the true conceptualists. Many refused to believe me when I described an artwork that's plainly a box of Joko and Omo strategically placed together - titled Yoko Ono. Well, here it is:

Artist: Ed Young
Title: Yoko Ono
Where: At the Stellenbosch Modern and Contemporary Art Gallery

I don’t even know where to begin. I’m livid, putrefied and disgusted to say the least. Yesterday saw me wasting away an hour of my life in a talk with an alleged artist, Barend de Wet*. This old timer actually had the nerve to grace our campus and present to us what many could term a post modernist display of sheer crassity.

The worst part is that I had double booked myself yesterday. It was either I missioned off to upper campus and witnessed our deputy vice-chancellor debating issues of Affirmative Action at UCT. That would have been interesting to say the least. But no, for the love of all things bright and beautiful (art) I chose to sit it out at Michaelis and witness a faded artist scrap together whatever remains of his dignity he could scramble. Needless to say he failed dismally. His first stunt was tattooing a lecturer and a popular artist. He then painfully proceeded to spin a yo-yo for an entire life-long 10 minutes. Thereafter he probably felt some form of obligation to play us a video of the world no.1 yo-yo spinner. Then the killer part – his ill-hearted video attempt at performance art, titled ‘pussywhipped’, where he nudely parades his wrinkled self, whilst shaving his girlfriend’s…. (take a guess).

Presuming I had died somewhere along his hour-long presentation, I could easily say I was turning in my grave. I couldn’t even jump out of this casket as I had to film the gyser for our school archives. Students mockingly asked him questions that further reinforced his fall from wherever he used to be. A bright 1^st year, posed a question that went along the lines: ‘Who is Barend de Wet, what does he do besides spinning yoyo’s, tattooing and shaving girls? What makes him an artist? His history, etc’ It was a good question, that was in line with what other lunchtime lecturers do whenever they grace Michaelis. Lo and behold, a Suzy Bell - looking like she had just walked off the set of a gothic movie - interjected and lamented the poor 1^st year for not having googled Barendt. Suzy, you boarded the wrong bus dear, I doubt the owners of google could tarnish their search engine with such banality. Barend was supposed to tell us about himself, his work, his inspirations, et cetera.

The single most inspiring element of his talk was when he eventually stopped, ran out of time or words; now that was an applause worthy moment of good riddance.