Cape Town, South Africa 18 July 2008
For South Africa, the first 20 years of democracy should have been the time for the victims of apartheid to enjoy life and to catch up economically, intellectually, and socially, freed from all of those dark times. Despite that, it is premature for the influx of foreigners into South Africa, as South Africans are not yet ready to welcome any competition from anybody on any level.
So, I’m in Nelson Mandela Square -- from its name you might mistake it for something other than a shopping mall -- and, it being a cold day, I’m sitting in the sun on that staircase near the entrance, eating a sandwich, waiting for a friend, filled with that perfect 50/50 of disgust and lust that shopping malls bring out.
Upmarket malls gather the grotesque. Everything is out of proportion.
Breasts out of proportion with bodies, egos out of proportion with intellects, spending out of proportion with credit ratings, children whose libidos are well out of proportion with their ages. Which is why it makes sense that here, Nelson Mandela’s head is out of proportion with his body.
But, briefly, back to breasts. I can’t say I don’t like them. It’s just that an uncomfortably overinflated pair are coming right at me. And they’re calling me “lovey”.
Mail & Guardian | That man, that smile, that dance
I read the above column a short while ago and left a comment beneath it:
Many thanks for this column, Lev; I hope Madiba gets around to reading it. You've taken a snapshot of far more than Stan and 'that woman'. Somehow you've squeezed all of us into the picture and that takes some doing. With Madiba driving the piece, anything's possible — but it takes a special talent to capture in 800 words our myriad multilayered states of being South African.Thing is, I do not know Lev David's writing — nor am I qualified to certify it as exceptional. Nevertheless, this piece struck me as singularly profound; a synopsis of our national character touching many levels.
Cape Town, South Africa 18 July 2008
The government itself is cooperating or promoting xenophobic spirit in some way or another, like by renewing refugees’ status, issuing red identification cards as if to mean blood or danger, or issuing a different birth certificate to a baby even though he was born in South Africa. These are only a few examples. Ironically, the South African government has always been fair to issue the same death certificate to foreigners and South Africans.
Having indulged The New Yorker cover farce, I struggled to find a piece that adequately articulated my feelings on Madiba's ninetieth birthday. Below, I point to a damned good critique of Mandela by Tom Lodge, but this column is very different. It's art, posing as journalism — reflecting the nuances and paradoxes of our collective South African psyche.
Like us, and if you enjoy splitting hairs, it's flawed but, as a local, I'd tell you that if the statue has a "tiny little" head, it has both.
From the domestics and security guards introducing it to the blithely racist comment of our all-too-average Sandton socialite, the writing addresses us as a fractured people doing far more than 'going through the motions'. From the emotive give-and-take of Mandela's stage appearance — with all the implications of its spontaneously choreographed automatism to the writer's intensely personal endearment, it captures us as raw, passionate, arrogant, obdurate and, yet, easily swayed.
It also shows us to be somehow capable of recognising and, perhaps, realising the vision of a man the like of whom we'll never know again.
Perhaps I read too much into Lev David's column, but I don't think so. As a gift to the old man, it's perfect.
It’s also a lie that the victim of xenophobia can find peace and happiness in South Africa as long as the citizens of the country are still complaining about service delivery. It’s more the duty of the government to respond to its citizens’ long-promised dreams than to try to hypnotize the immigrant by mere words of reintegration, of which the government itself doesn’t even know the meaning.
Bertin Mushigo | Piece of My Heart On Xenophobia Issue
