We need a fresh approach to politics.
But perhaps not quite as fresh as North Korea’s approach. Last week, Kim Jong-un won the election with 100% of ballots cast in his favour. The man’s popularity is astounding. Opposition candidates narrowly failed to win a seat in the Supreme People’s Assembly because they were dead.
I rather like Rwanda’s new approach to politics, whereby their embassy staff are tasked with hunting down and murdering the opponents of President Paul Kagame. The diplomatic corpse, indeed.
Perhaps we did try it. That’s why Tony Leon was recalled from Buenos Aires. He confused the hit list with his grocery list. Even though he diligently spent every weekend grilling slabs of Argentine beef, he didn’t get the answers his handlers wanted.
I’m talking about a different kind of approach to politics altogether. We’re becoming dangerously bored. Political reports are as tedious as politicians are predictable.The most interesting thing to watch on the news is a man with no legs vomiting and a policeman pretending to hit a door with a cricket bat.
The ANC has just released its list of parliamentary candidates. It looked like the kind of list you’d find stuck up inside a police station. Wanted for fraud. Theft. Corruption. Assault. Money laundering. If you see these people, do not vote for them. Au contraire. I say we do.
In the immortal words of Margaret Thatcher, “Fuck politics – let’s riot!”
I, for one, am sick and tired of reading about the homeless getting houses and the roadless getting roads. I no longer want to hear about civil servants doing their jobs. I am bored with the goooood story. I want to hear the baaaaaad story.
I want us to start being honest about our dishonesty.
We should flaunt it. Be proud of it. The ANC has already made great strides in this direction by including on their list the likes of Dina Pule, Cassel Mathale, Bathabile Dlamini, Pule Mabe, John Block, Andile Lungisa, Bheki Cele, Humphrey Mmemezi, Ruth Bhengu, Beauty Dlulane, Mnyamezeli Booi and Lassy Chiswayo. Between the lot of them, they have gangbanged taxpayers out of millions.
Good for them, I say. These are the true professionals. You may disagree, and argue that the true professionals are those who never get caught. And you would be right. But the Dirty Dozen, having been caught, will soon find themselves once again in the hallowed halls of parliament.
Blessed are the lawbreakers, for they shall become the lawmakers.
And they are led by none other than the maestro himself. The Artful Dodger. The king of the castle with a moat full of lawyers. His Excellency Comrade President Dr Pastor Jacob Zuma, Commander-in-Chief and Father of Many.
It takes no special skill to be honest. Thanks in part to evolution, it is our default setting. It does, however, take an extraordinary amount of tenacity and resolve to suppress that metamorphic imperative and replace it with one driven solely by self-interest.
Banditry bears its own burden. If it were easy, we’d all be doing it. The time has come for us to acknowledge the long hours that these people have devoted to honing their felonious faculties.
There are at least 50 shades of shady, from abusing sick leave to stealing millions, and each category deserves its own award. On a sliding scale, obviously.
Champion malingerers shouldn’t be rewarded with much more than a modest trophy. Their only skill, really, lies in sounding plausibly ill when calling in sick. And even that’s a dying art, what with more and more doctors prepared to dish out certificates in return for nothing more than the price of a consultation.
The true artists, those who are committing massive tender fraud or securing a position in the cabinet through blackmail, should get the recognition they deserve. The really successful ones will have worked long, hard hours looking for loopholes in financial systems and conceiving creative new ways of fleecing the taxpayer.
Look, I’m not suggesting that we get rid of or even publicly malign those in the public service who lack the guile and courage to violate their oath of office. Let them stay, by all means. But only on condition that they stop bleating about all the good they’re doing. We don’t respect them for it. In fact, we despise them even more.
Go to any of the areas in this country inhabited by the wretched and the doomed and ask to meet the neighbourhood heroes. You won’t be taken to the teachers and the nurses. You’ll be blindfolded and taken to the leaders of the gangs.