Shoot the messenger, part 2

Funny how South Africans can’t take criticism.

It’s called part 2 because I’ve written about this before.

On Saturday I wrote a piece critical of infantile rainbow nationism, and I got comments saying it was good I don’t live in South Africa. One of them echoes safety and security – ahem – minister Charles Nqakula’s call for people who are critical to leave the country:.

“The whingers can do one of two things. They can continue to whinge until they are blue in the face – they can be as negative as they want to – or they can simply leave this country.”

One was from Nic, pissed off that I dissed his ‘why SA rocks‘ affiliate programme (I was going to call it a ‘circle jerk’, Nic, but then I softened).

Another was from Steve the Zionist hack,who already hates me because I say nasty things about Israel.

The assumption they make is that I fled South Africa, and that I am casting stones from my dreary exile.

They are wrong.

When I lived in South Africa I was broke but happy. Now I’m decently paid, but stressed, and I have no free time. I preferred being broke and happy, but wish I didn’t have to choose. I’ve grown attached to the Internet and would miss it if I was back in South Africa.

I didn’t flee South Africa – I left very reluctantly, for love. My girlfriend was here. I didn’t want to come to the UK, and I was determined to hate it upon arrival. I arrived with my life savings – which lasted 6 weeks – on a working holiday visa, and took the first pub job I could get.

It has been important for me – on a lot of levels – to have some distance.

There’s plenty I don’t like about Britain – and regular readers will know I am as scathing about this country as I am about South Africa – but I’ve also been pleasantly surprised by a lot of things.

I particularly like Scotland, which is a wonderful country. People in Scotland – and especially Glasgow – speak their minds.

Ian wrote a brilliant response to my piece. If only he spent more time blogging and less time working, we’d all be better off. I agree with what he says. But it’s not my role.

I am a critic.

Although I realise there is a balance, for me it tipped over into the dark side about 18 months ago. I’m not sure what the tipping point was, but it might have had something to do with Zuma, and the mass political suicide of the Left. I got tired on not seeing any improvement.

It’s not that I don’t believe it’s possible for things to work out well. I just don’t think it’s likely anymore.

And I am entitled to that opinion – whether I express it in Glasgow or Cape Town.

Why is it I feel unwelcome in South Africa? Why does everyone think I don’t have a right to voice my opinion, because I live in Scotland? Is that what fought for, a country that doesn’t tolerate dissent? You’re as bad as the “America – love it or leave it” brigade. Fuck the lot of you.

I am a prickly character. I don’t suffer fools, and I am always the one raining on people’s parades, criticising things. But it’s the grit that makes the pearl, isn’t it?

Intelligent systems incorporate criticism and become stronger for it. Take capitalism, for instance: as much as I hate it, you’ve got to admire the way it can package your rebellion and sell it right back to you.

As some Russian revolutionary said: “Just when you’re about to hang the last capitalist, another will appear to sell you the rope”.

How true.

I have read through everything I have written on the subject, and I can honestly say I am not ‘whinging’. My critique, although angry, is fairly consistent, and I was as critical when I was living in South Africa: the ANC had a mandate in 1994 to redistribute wealth so that all South Africans could have a share. Instead of doing this, it made its own inner circle super-rich, and let the majority get poorer.

That sense of betrayal – and the material need – is probably the biggest cause of our crime wave.

We need a different kind of political leadership. We need one that at least tries to deliver to its citizens. To try and fail is forgivable, but the ANC has long since stopped pretending it’s about anything other than getting rich.

I mean, what really happened in 1994? Instead of white bosses in Pretoria, we got white bosses in Washington and London, and black boss boys in Pretoria telling us to shut up if we knew what was good for us.

Straight out of national apartheid and into global apartheid, and our government of heroes capitulated at the first step.

As much as it suits my critics to dismiss me as a privileged whiner in exile, shedding crocodile tears for the poor, this just allows them to avoid the issues I raise. I actually always offer concrete, constructive suggestions about what could be done to make things better. No one ever gets that far: they see the negativity, put their fingers in their ears and tell me to stay in Scotland. I would be really pleased if just one of my critics would engage with what I am saying instead of shouting me down.

There’s a big shadow looming to the north called Zimbabwe. It’s the shadow of not dealing with structural injustices, and it’s hanging over our precious rainbow nation. We can do things the hard way, like Zimbabwe, or we can listen to critics now, and do things the easy way.

We need to give people the land back. When South Africa first industrialised in the early part of last century, hut taxes forced people off the land and into the mines and factories.

Now, in post-industrial South Africa – thanks, ANC, for removing all those tariff barriers – the descendants of those people are surplus to requirements. The least we can do is facilitate their return to the land, so they can support themselves.

We also need a massive investment in skills, and in infrastructure. The neoliberals are wrong about this: leaving everything to the market will not be the magic bullet that saves South Africa, just as it wasn’t for Russia. A few people will get very rich while the country’s wealth is sold off to the new imperialists.

We need public spending. Investment. On a massive scale.

And we need people who are critical of the situation we find ourselves in, but are actively trying to change things. Take the Progressive ANC voters network, for example – we should all be spending a bit more time engaging with them, and less time stroking our egos on the Internet.

I joined the ANC in 1992, but didn’t stay a member because I felt betrayed. PAVN manages to evoke the spirit of the organisation in such a way that I almost want to come home. Pity they’re getting so much stick.

As Bullard says, the challenge for bloggers is to remain relevant, and write so that decision makers and leaders will check our blogs first thing in the morning.

So, Thabo, if you’re reading this, contact me offline.