A Letter to Kallie Kriel, Caucasian-in-Chief of AfriForum

Hello Oom Kallie. How is it going with Oom? Is it okay with Oom if I call Oom Oom? I believe it is a mark of respect in our culture, although if someone calls me Oom I want to punch him in the mouth. Maybe there is something wrong with us. When I say us, I mean we English-speakers. Not we white people. There is nothing wrong with white people. This is a well-known fact. Even scientists have proven that God chose white people as his number one race.
I just love being white. Don’t you? It’s the best colour. You can wear anything with it and never have to worry about your broeks clashing with your hemp. By hemp I am obviously referring to the marijuana that many young white people carry around in colourful fabric bags these days. Does Oom smoke boom? I hear it is very good for the cancer and also the appetite. Is it true all the Boer generals smoked it and that is why the Third Boer War never took off? Too much sitting around chatting and laughing. Still. It’s probably a good thing otherwise we’d all be speaking Australian today.
Congratulations on your recent tour of America, a country that until recently was enemy territory for you. Now that our hero Donald Trump has made the White House white again, America can once more take its rightful place in the world. Blood and soil, Oom. Blood and soil.
You even got a meeting with the US Agency for International Aid. That would never have happened while the Kenyan antichrist was president. Did they give you money? I bet they did. You should use it to stock up on dog food. When the genocide moves from the farms to the suburbs, you are going to need lots of dogs. As you know, darkies are more scared of dogs than they are of white people. You can thank democracy for that.
I could hardly believe my ears when President Ramaphosa said you and the man who plays Chewbacca to your Han Solo, Robin to your Batman, Donkey to your Shrek, Gollum to your Frodo, Tonto to your Lone Ranger, Gromit to your … whoops. Where was I? Yes. Ramaphosa said that instead of trying to mobilise the international community against your own country, you and Ernst Roets should “come back home for inclusive dialogue”.
Sounds familiar. You probably remember better than I the day that Zulu King Dingane invited Piet Retief and some of his men around for a spot of inclusive dialogue, then shouted, “Bulalani abathagathi!” The Voortrekker leader said, “Two sugars please,” but it wasn’t the right response and they were all killed. If you don’t understand Zulu, Oom Kallie, now would be a good time to learn.
Speaking of which, you need to get your sidekick to change the title of his self-help book. Kill the Boer sounds too much like advice. South Africans take things literally, especially the illiterate ones.
I’m not sure I agree with you that the government is complicit in farm murders. Bludgeoning is heavy work and you’d be hard pressed to find a civil servant prepared to lift a finger, let alone a blunt instrument, for less than six figures and a promise of jobs for at least five members of his family.
I must admit to being a little curious about your strategy for getting the government to reverse plans and policies that might level the playing field and nudge Afrikaners off their perch as apex predators. I’m talking purely in the financial sense, here. I don’t mean Afrikaners go around biting people’s legs off, even though they do share some characteristics of that other apex predator, the great white shark. As you know, most Afrikaners have electroreceptors on their foreheads, much like the white shark has the ampullae of Lorenzini on their snouts. If you stroke them, their mouths fall open and they go into a kind of trance, rendering them quite harmless. By the time they come to their senses, some may find their land has been expropriated without compensation.
Warn your people, Oom. Warn them not to let strangers stroke them on the forehead. By strangers I think we both know who I mean. And there’s nothing more strange in this world than people who aren’t white. Am I right? Of course I am. It’s no coincidence that white rhymes with right. Those people what wrote the dictionary knew what they were doing.
Your organisation – which I’m guessing stands for Afrikaners For Umbrage – only has a couple of hundred thousand members. Even though your motto is, “Laat jou stem hoor”, which apparently means, “Let your guns sound with the roar of a thousand lions”, I can’t see how you can take us back to the good old days through a campaign of righteous Christian violence. Not with those numbers. And certainly not without the help of the police and army. They won’t even help normal people, let alone you guys.
Thing is, I have heard talk among white people, or, as some communities affectionately call us, whypeepo, of a growing discontent within the ranks. The ranks being mostly bikers, diesel mechanics and others unfamiliar with the ways of the common apostrophe. They use cryptic phrases like, “Wait. It’s coming. You will see.” I never ask what it is that’s coming, finding it safer to lower my eyes and back away slowly.
The truth is, Oom, I am a bit of a coward. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not a leftie or a liberal. I am just a simple coward. I know I should be standing shoulder to shoulder with you and Solidarity and the Suidlanders and Dan Roodt and the people who only sing the uit die diepte van ons hemelpart of the anthem at the rugby, but I also know that we are heavily outnumbered and I don’t want to have to fight my way through forty million black people only to get to Simon’s Town and find the last boat has left.
There is a good chance I am wrong because I have been married twice and know all about being wrong, but I would sleep easier at night knowing that Steve Hofmeyr and Julius Malema might one day marry were it not for their height rather than their political differences. Is that wrong? Do I need an exorcism?
This crazy dream of mine is unlikely to come true as long as you keep saying that apartheid was not a crime against humanity. I do agree with you, though. Puffy pants and rhinestone studded denim jackets were a crime against humanity. Having the barman put Pepsi instead of Coke into your brandy is a crime against humanity. But apartheid? Okay, sure. It couldn’t have been much fun not being allowed to visit the beach or a park or cinema, theatre or restaurant, but they had things we didn’t have. Lots of brothers and sisters, for a start. And they weren’t forced to go to school. Or the army. Not a bad life at all.
As you pointed out, the security forces only killed around 700 people while the National Party was running the show. Hardly a crime against humanity. On a good day, the Israelis take care of that many Palestinians before lunch.
And apartheid wasn’t our fault, either. There would have been none of that business in this beautiful country if there had been no black people to start with. But we have forgiven them for making us do the apartheid and it is time they stopped talking about it.
Actually, Oom, there’s something called the Rome Statute that recognises apartheid as a crime against humanity. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the marble statute of that kaalgat oke David with the little willy and wondering how a statute can recognise anything.
You and many of your followers are doubly blessed. Not only are you members of the master race but you are also beneficiaries of the Dunning-Kruger Effect. This is what the darkies must mean by white privilege.
Anyway, Oom Kallie, I must go and find my passport in case of the genocide. If the airports are closed, I will see you at the harbour.
Steve:Julius

Land of the free-for-all

If you look up land reform in South Africa in an atlas, you will see a picture of a Neanderthal armed with a wooden club dispersing a family of Brachiosauruses so that he might build a rudimentary security complex on their traditional grazing grounds. He was the first property developer. And while the dinosaurs went extinct, property developers still walk among us. It’s rather tragic.
Then, in the early Pleistocene – which came to an end when it got ground into the terrestrial carpet – Australopithecus africanus came along and things took a bit of a turn.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the Neanderthal.
“I am the earliest hominid and I am taking this complex for myself.”
“No, you’re not. Besides, I haven’t even started building it yet.”
“Then I shall take your land.”
“You will have to fight me for it.”
“I can’t. Not today. My wife wants me home early.”
“Your wife that Mrs Ples?”
“That’s her. Why?”
“Take my land. You’ve suffered enough.”
Not all transfers of land went as smoothly as that. Before long – well, quite long –Australopithecus sediba was fighting off Homo ergaster who fought off Homo erectus who fought off Homo rhodesiensis who fought off Homo helmei who fought off Homo naledi who thought about fighting off Homo sapiens but chose to off themselves rather than sit through interminable committee meetings on land ownership where nobody spoke the same language and everyone wanted more than they needed. Little has changed.
Then along came the Upper Paleolithic period and everything went to hell in a crudely woven hand basket. Men started thinking they should cover their willies in public and women started thinking … I don’t know what they were thinking and it’s not my place to guess, either. I apologise. Smash the patriarchy.
Hunting and gathering cultures known as the Sangoan began occupying parts of southern Africa. They were the forerunners of the Khoi and the San who, if they started dating, agreed to be called the Khoisan. Otherwise not.
They weren’t that into developing golf estates and shopping malls, preferring instead to get stoned and spend their evenings laughing and painting crazy things on the walls of their caves. They were fun people to have around on a Friday night.
Ultimately, though, they were too nice for their own good. The Bantu, you see, had plans. Well, inasmuch as you can call wandering off in a general southerly direction a plan. I think they must have travelled as I do. Let’s just go a bit further. See what’s around the next corner. Not this one, the next one. Then we’ll stop, I promise. Oh, look. A mountain. I wonder what’s on the other side.
I don’t know who was more surprised to see each other – the Khoisan or the Bantu. Knowing the Khoisan, they would have rolled a massive joint. Knowing the Bantu, they would have taken it.
You’d think that would have been the end of it. That they would start shagging each other and coexist happily. Which they did. Until the novelty wore off. Once you’ve had enough of rogering members of a different tribe, it’s not long before you want to murder them.
The Khoisan was the largest population on earth at some point. This isn’t me just making up facts. This comes from an evolutionary geneticist from Harvard University. I’m only mentioning it in the hope that the editor will notice that I’m doing research and give me more money. To spend on extra research, obviously. Not beer.
With their superior agricultural, metalworking and shagging skills, the Bantu soon enough became the dominant population and did whatever the hell they wanted. Which was only right. Those who dominate will always be domineering. That’s the whole point of being dominant.
While my ancestors were dressed in rags and selling potatoes outside a brothel in Rotterdam, the Bantu in Mapungubwe were trading in gold and ivory and building the region’s first gated compound. They had a kingdom, for heaven’s sake. With hot and cold running Khoikhoi servants. My people couldn’t even make themselves understood unless they were drunk.
Speaking of barbarians, an Australian-listed company called Coal of Africa wants to open a mine a stone’s throw from this world heritage site. Plans are on hold for now. If they do go ahead, I shall form a company called Wombats of Australia and go off to mine wombats on the Great Barrier Reef or wherever the hell it is these deadly creatures live.
So. The Bantu began expanding faster than Collen Maine’s waistline at a free buffet. Existing populations were displaced or assimilated. Or, if time was short, killed. Some fancied the Transkei so they went there and became the Xhosa nation. The rest fancied everything north of the Kei River and called themselves the Zulu nation. They had their differences but these were solved in traditional South African fashion – first dialogue, then violence.
At some point the Dutch arrived. It was okay at first. They built stuff, got high and grew vegetables. Jan van Riebeeck was a full-on hippy. Then, through some kind of weird reverse-evolution, some of them turned into Boers and went to the Transkei because it had the best grass. Still does. Since they couldn’t speak Xhosa, they skipped dialogue and proceed directly to violence.
Then the British arrived and occupied Cape Town to prevent it from falling under the control of the French. I’m starting to get a headache. From what I can make out, the Boers hated the British, the Zulus hated the British and the Boers, the Xhosas hated everyone and the British hated themselves.
Right. That’s enough history. We all know the rest. The Boers won. Then, in 1994, they lost. They spent a helluva long time at the top of the log, though. Then again, even Arsenal would dominate if they had an actual arsenal at their disposal.
So here we go. From a parliament of white people passing the Native Lands Act in 1913 to a parliament of black people in 2018 agreeing to take back the land. It’s a very complicated issue that gets a lot simpler the more you drink. Try it.
Firstly, you can’t confiscate all of it – all 1.2-million square kilometres – and give it to the state. King Goodwill Zwelithini would have a hissy fit and announce a unilateral declaration of independence. I don’t so much mind being a citizen of the People’s Republic of KwaZulu, but I really don’t want to have to go to Nongoma every time I need permission to travel outside the province.
Secondly, there’s a possibility that Julius Malema is pushing expropriation without compensation simply because he wants to get his cabbage farm back. It was auctioned off by the asset forfeiture unit in 2013 to pay his tax debt. Pouring salt in the wound, a white Afrikaner snapped it up.
In 20 years’ time, we will look back at the smouldering wreck that was once our economy, shake our heads sadly and say, “Bloody cabbages.”
early

An open letter to Julius “Seizure” Malema

Dear Comrade Julius Malema the First, Commander-in-Chief of the Economic Freedom Fighters, Hero of the Poor, Prince of Pedis, the People’s Parliamentarian, Evader of Taxes and Creator of the Revolutionary Onesie.

Congratulations on getting your BA degree through Unisa. That’s quite an achievement, especially when you consider how difficult it is just to get through to them on the phone.

I see you’ve been very busy lately putting your qualifications into practice and exercising your superior intellect. For a start, you reminded the people of Soweto about their role in the struggle against apartheid. Well done. People have short attention spans these days and all too often we forget hair appointments, wedding anniversaries and crimes against humanity.

The real masterstroke, though, was when you reminded the crowd to continue reproducing. I often forget to reproduce, with the result that I have only one loinfruit. Pathetic, I know. But this is good for black people because, as you so accurately pointed out, “White people do not want us to give birth because they know we are more than them … The day they are more than us, they will take over our land.”

It’s a fascinating theory, right up there with Frantz Fanon’s theory of colonial identity and the parallels between racial and commodity-based fetishism. And, obviously, the theory that Tinky Winky is gay.

However, no matter how brilliant theories are, it is important that they be tested. Without testing we could all just go around saying things like, “The moon landing was fake.” And, “9/11 was an inside job.” Which it quite clearly was. I don’t believe the moon landing was faked, though, because there is no such thing as ‘the moon’. I know a hologram when I see one and this is up there with the best.

Anyway, I tested your theory that white people wanted to take over politically by out-breeding black people. My maths is about as good as your woodwork, so my figures might not be one hundred and ten percent accurate. There are 55 million people in this country, most of whom can be found in my local bottle store on a Friday afternoon. Of that, 44 million are black and 4.5 million white. Hang on. What’s this? There are 4.8 million coloureds? Are you aware of this? What if you’re wrong and it’s the coloureds, not the whites, who are out to win this breeding war? If that is the case, we’re in deep trouble, my brother, and blacks and whites need to stand together against the Bruin Gevaar.

But I assume you’re right because you have been right about everything so far … well, everything apart from your blind loyalty to President Zuma, which only ended when he pulled a Dr Frankenstein four years ago and inadvertently turned you into his monster. I use the word ‘his’ loosely.

So here are my calculations. For the white population to go top of the log, every last Caucasian would have to have ten babies. That includes pensioners, children and, indeed, babies themselves. That’s right, comrade. The babies would have to have babies. But that’s not all. The men as well as the women would need to breed, which is entirely possible because it’s a well-known fact that white men have ovaries tucked behind their livers.

Oh, no. My test just got a whole lot more complicated. Figures show that last year the black population grew by 7.3% while the white population declined by 4.2%. This means that … I don’t know what it means. This is one of those rare moments in my life where beer can’t help.

So, unless Statistics SA is part of the white supremacist conspiracy, I think it’s fairly safe to say that white South Africans are still breeding – they’re just doing it in Perth, London and Auckland.

I must say, though, that you are a bit of a natural contraception. I was lying in bed with a girlfriend watching you being all red and shouty in parliament and she got so depressed that she lost all interest in sex. Maybe it’s a white thing.

You also told the people of Soweto – a vast, sparsely populated area where you can sometimes travel for up to three or four metres without bumping into another living soul – that “to make children is a revolutionary duty‚ because children represent reproduction of society. And when you reproduce yourself you reproduce your ideas and legacy.”

Correct me if I’m wrong, but as far as I know, you have spawned only one sproglodyte while your archenemy Jacob Zuma has 22 at last count. Soon we will find out who is the real revolutionary.

Inexplicably, not everyone recognises your genius. Jabu Mahlangu, spokesman for the SA National Civic Organisation, described your call to coitus as “illogical gibberish”. Well, that’s one less person you have to name a street after once you’re president.

Anyway, good luck with the launch of your manifesto next weekend. Did you know it comes from the Greek word ‘mani’ meaning ‘barefaced’ and ‘festo’ meaning ‘lies’? Of course you did.

Also, all the best for the municipal elections. When you win a municipality you absolutely must ride into town on a tank. It worked for the Americans when they liberated Paris and it can work for you when you liberate Parys. I’m happy to come in with my flamethrower and flush out the last of the ANC councillors.

By the way, I like your logo – a giant black fist dominating Africa and threatening South America with an assegai. Good for you. Those goddamn uppity Latinos need to learn that they aren’t the only ones who can cripple economies through poorly thought out socialist policies.

Juju Tank

 

 

 

 

 

Juju and the wrong arm of the law

The Honourable Comrade Julius Malema has been appointed to the Judicial Services Commission. This is not a drill. Women and children first.

When I heard the news, I went into a spin, began drinking heavily, lost it on the dismount, vomited on the cat and accidentally shredded my passport along with a pile of incriminating files.

The Teletubby-in-Chief in the bright red onesie and plastic hat is being allowed a say in who will become a judge. A terrifying prospect. Or is it? This is, after all, a man who has been in front of the equality court, the insolvency court and soon the criminal court. He is familiar with laws. He knows how to break them and, as a member of parliament, he is learning how to make them.

The ANC’s Mathole Motshekga was also appointed to the JSC. Motshekga was recalled as the ANC’s chief whip in parliament a year ago. At the time, his colleagues diplomatically described him as “less than effective”. The JSC consists of at least 23 members. I have been less than effective in meetings consisting of fewer than six people and nobody has noticed. Have a good rest, Mathole. You deserve it.

The JSC advises the government on matters relating to the judiciary and the administration of justice in South Africa.

“Point of order!”

“Yes, Mr Malema?”

“As a member of the JSC, I advise the NPA to drop all charges against me.”

It might just work. JSC meetings are, after all, presided over by Chief Justice Mogoeng Mogoeng, whose most recent communication with the judiciary was an advisory note strongly recommending that everyone from advocate up book their places on Noah’s Ark II. Attorneys to make their own arrangements.

In an act of sublime sublimity, Thandi Modise has also been appointed to the JSC. She threw Juju out of parliament the other day. She’s going to wish she were back in Angola training with Mkhonto we Sizwe.

Sitting around the giant slab of mahogany, perhaps even next to Juju, will be Hendrik Schmidt. There are people still in jail because of him. No, he’s not a police informant. Worse. He’s a lawyer. A prosecutor. An advocate. With a Masters in Philosophy. And, just to make Juju’s nightmare complete, he’s also the DA’s shadow minister of mining. There will be blood. Or, at the very least, raised voices over tea and cake.

To Juju’s left is the IFP’s Narend Singh, best known for owning a bus company and losing his job as an MEC through a leaked sex tape. I’m not sure what’s more shameful. I mean, really. Buses?

Then there’s Dumisane Ximbi, the Twelve Apostle’s Church in Christ’s main man in the Western Cape who was with the UDM but then skipped to the ANC. And then there is … oh god. I can’t. I can’t go on. I just can’t.

The chief whip of the Freedom Front Plus, Corné Mulder, described Julius Malema’s appointment to the JSC as “outrageous”. Yeah, well. Here’s the thing, Corné. You need to find another word. Outrageous is taken. It’s what normal people use to describe apartheid.

Perhaps, if you sustained a head injury and looked at it through half-closed eyes, with your head turned to one side like a dog listening for an ultrasonic signal, you could see the new JSC as representing the mythical Rainbow Nation with the best of what we have to offer.

Or you could see them as a punchy, power-drunk mishmash of skabengas, god-botherers, narcissists and political truffle hunters afflicted with complexes ranging from Messianic to paranoiac. The real joke, though, is that they report directly to the president, a large man capable of defying the laws of physics by slipping through the smallest of legal loopholes.