Zapiro. Son of Zuma

This is a piece I wrote for the Mail & Guardian's Thought Leader blog. It is about the war that is happening between Jacob Zuma and the political cartoonist, Zapiro. Zuma doesn't like the way Zapiro depicts him in his cartoons. Recently he began legal action over this cartoon.

If you click on the title below, it will take you to the original article so you can read the comments etc.

ZAPIRO. SON OF ZUMA
By David J Smith

So we got this war going on.

Between a cartoonist and a president. They are at each other’s throats like dogs. Tussling and grappling. Pulling and biting. Snarling and barking. Drawing showerheads. Threatening lawsuits. Speaking on the TV. Crying on the radio. Banning programmes. Leaking programmes. Shouting at the top of their voices:

This man is a fool! This man is no good! This man is a rapist! This man is raping my image!

But there’s this thing. This thing that I feel should be blatantly obvious to them. But somehow it isn’t. They are exactly the same. Two peas in a pod. Cut from the same cloth. Cast from the same die. And all those other metaphors we like to use.

Zuma saw something wrong in his country and picked up his machine gun. Zapiro saw something wrong in his country and picked up his pen. Zuma couldn’t stand by while his people got robbed. And nor could Zapiro.

Zuma fought for freedom. Zapiro is fighting to keep it going.

Zuma speaks in simple terms to get his message across. He dances on stage and makes people feel all right. Zapiro tells his story in simple drawings. He uses humour to make us feel all right.

Zapiro and Zuma are kin. Like father and son.

But where does this leave us? Where do we go now? When I am confused and seeking guidance, I always look to a higher force.

Star Wars.

It’s like that moment at the end of The Empire Strikes Back when Luke is fighting Darth Vader. Vader cuts off Luke’s hand (not a good thing for a Jedi or a cartoonist) and then tells him … (strange breathing) … Luke, I am your father. Luke reels around in shock. He can’t believe what is happening. He is nothing like this man. How can he be his son?

I feel like this is where we are at now.

We need both men to realise they are coming from the same place. Like Jedi Knights. Old school freedom fighters. Yes, Darth strayed into a dark place but we know he can return to the light. As can Zuma. While Luke, he sometimes got a little too big for his boots. He almost let the power go to his head. But his heart was always in the right place. As is Zapiro’s.

In the end, it is only when these two realise that the other isn’t the enemy that they will be able take on our real enemies.

And hopefully conquer them together.

Mr Zuma. Mr Zapiro. May the force be with you.

The endless circle in my mind.

An article I wrote for Shazam magazine in Amsterdam. Of and Concerning Brown Snakes, Indigestable Corn, Mein Kampf, Jacob Zuma and Gays in the Military.


It’s Easter Monday and we are trying to make this magazine happen. And oh shit, I haven’t done my bit. I’ve done nothing all weekend. I didn’t make it happen. The deadline is tomorrow so here I am trying to write something. Anything. Just to get it out.

What?

Brown snakes. All weekend the topic of brown snakes kept coming up. Well, actually the murder of brown snakes. Apparently it is an Aussie euphemism for taking a dump. They say it in Flight of the Conchords and now people are saying it on twitter. Writing it on their facebook wall. Lisa is murdering a brown snake. Sent by facebook mobile. WTF? Why does the world need to know that?

Plus the analogy seems all wrong. How do you murder a turd? Do you wrestle it to the ground and press your thumbs down on its windpipe until it dies? Or do you break its neck or stab it repeatedly? If a turd doesn’t have a spine or lungs or guts or anything, how do you do that? Faecal homicide is a complicated affair. You could hose it down, like people do with dog shit they are too lazy to pick up off the lawn. They just keep spraying it with water, hoping it will disappear. But often you are left with bits. Corn is a common one. Indigestible. Just stays in there because we don’t have the right enzymes to break it down.

I found that out on yahoo answers. SallyP20 wrote:

Why is corn indigestible?

ChrisN replied:

The outer part of the corn kernel isn't easily digestible. It's very fibrous. We don't have the right enzymes to break it down. But that type of fiber is good for your system. It helps clean you out. Your digestive enzymes do get to the inner part of the kernel, so it's not all going out the other end :-)

See the way he used that smiley face… the emoticon as it is now called. It allows you to talk about colonic functioning with complete strangers. It is an amazing invention. You can write a mail to someone and say: YOU ARE A CUNT. Put a :-) on the end you’re off the hook. The smiley is your get-out-of-jail-free card. Basically if Adolf Hitler had finished Mein Kampf with a smiley, no one would have minded. He could have used one of those seminal classic winking smileys. Semicolon-dash-bracket ;-)

KILL THE FUCKING JEWS! ;-) AND THE GYPSIES! ;-) AND THE RETARDS! ;-)

MEIN KAMPF NOW AVAILABLE AT ANY GOOD BOOKSTORE :-(

Mein Kampf. Every year thousands of copies are sold. Who gets all the profits? Obviously Hitler got them at the beginning. Made him a millionaire. He even bought a Mercedes with them while still in prison. But who gets all the profits today? Who’s turning a dime on Hitler’s rhymes?

These guys are: Houghton Mifflin. A publishing house in Boston. But what do they do with the money? I don’t know. So I decided to write to them.

From David Smith
To corporate_communications@hmco.com
Date Tue, Apr 14, 2009 at 12:35 AM
Subject The profits from Mein Kampf

Hi there!

So it is 13 minutes after midnight and I’ve got to get an article done for this magazine called Shazaam. It’s an Amsterdam based publication. (Amsterdam Amsterdam that is, rather than Amsterdam, Missouri). Until about 5 minutes ago I had no idea what I was going to write about, but then I hit on an interesting idea.

Mein Kampf. Someone is selling it; therefore someone is making money from it.

And I found your name on the internet.

I was wondering if you could tell me how many copies you sell, how much money you make from the book, and what you do with the profit? Is treated separately from your other earnings or does it all just go into the same pot?

I don’t ask these questions because I want to be militant or anything. Just strikes me as an interesting line of thought. Who’s turning a dime on Hitler’s rhymes?

That last line was meant for literary effect, I know it isn’t a poem.

Anyway, if you can help, please do, I really need to deliver these guys something! They can get really weird about late submissions.

Your humble servant
David J Smith

* * * *


It’s Tuesday morning. No one from Houghton Mifflin has replied. Kinda figures. Easter Monday – even dedicated Nazis don’t work on Easter Monday. Not that I am suggesting the good people at Houghton Mifflin are Nazis, just trying to make a point. You’re not going to get a reply from a midnight email on Easter Monday.

Ever wondered why Nazis looked so dead sexy in their uniforms? Hugo Boss. He made their outfits. Look it up on Wikipedia if you don’t believe me.

It seems like we often find criminals, wrong doers and evil people sexy. In South Africa, Jacob Zuma has just been voted the country’s sexiest politician. The guy was on trial for rape and corruption. His favourite song is Awuleth' uMshini Wam “Bring me my machine gun”. What kinda women voted for this dude? Did women really vote for him? Or is it like every other thing in politics – a sham. A crooked attempt to add face value to a guy who likes machine guns, raping and stealing money.

But maybe I need to do a rewind. You may not even know who Jacob Zuma is. According to the demographics of our magazine, you are 17 -21 and stoned. There is a good chance you have no idea who Jacob Zuma is. You may even think South Africa is the south part of Africa. A geographic region as opposed to a country. You laugh but some cunts have said that shit to me. They have asked what I think about this guy Robert Mugabe who is causing all the problems in South Africa. Robert Mugabe is from Zimbabwe not South Africa. Zimbabwe is a country in Southern Africa, not in South Africa. Okay so you know South Africa now. But maybe you don’t know Mr Zuma. Jacob Zuma is the current leader of the ANC – South Africa’s main political party. But he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And in someone else’s cookie when she didn’t really want him in there. That’s called rape if you didn’t realize. Well, he is likely to be the next president of South Africa. A faux pas in my mind. I kinda was hoping for someone nice like Nelson Mandela – well educated, noble, a good guy who doesn’t like machine guns. But we don’t seem to have another Mandela – we’ve just got Jacob.

The first Jacob was in the bible. And he was a dodgy motherfucker even back then. Check it. He was the second son of Isaac and the younger brother of Esau. According to ancient law, the family wealth went to the oldest brother so Esau was the man. But Jacob he wasn’t so happy about this. So one day his older bro comes back from a long trip in the desert, he is near starving, close to death. Jacob offers him some porridge like any brother would. But before Esau can take it, Jacob pulls it away…Easy bro, you want to eat; I want the family cash. So I’ll trade you. This shitty bowl of lentil porridge for all the tents, the camels, the goats and the chickens. And throw in a couple of your wives… Esau is bummed but what can he do? Like South Africa he’s caught between a rock and a hard place, so he has to trade all his good shit for a shitty bowl of porridge.

Porridge. BBC sitcom. Set in a prison. A group of jailbirds trying to get one over the screws. Remember that show? I don’t. I’m just using it as a segue to another subject – segways.

Segways are those two wheeled electric vehicles that you stand on while zooting around town. You know the ones. Why do people use them? I’m a lazy fat bastard so I understand people taking short cuts. But fuck I’m not that lazy. I have always thought if you’re under 70 and have legs that sort of work, you don’t need one. But it appears not everyone shares my opinion.

Last week I saw a whole gaggle of them in Amsterdam come whirring by. And it wasn’t oldies on them. It was a bunch of Brits on tour. Fag smoking Kappa tracksuit wearing Brits. Amsterdam is small. Amsterdam is flat. You don’t even need gears on your bicycle. But these lazy twats needed what are essentially motorized Zimmer frames to get around this tiny village. No wonder the British Empire fell apart. Can you imagine Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar scooting about the HMS Victory on his segway? Or Kitchener in the Sudan. Crying out to Abdullah Al-Taashi, leader of the fuzzy wuzzies (that’s what he called them, not me)… Hold on a mo, I seem to have got my wheels stuck in the blasted sand again…

No! Men like Kitchener would never have done anything that ghey (that’s the new polite way to say things are gay without saying gay). Not that he wasn’t partial to a little gayness. Many historians speculate that Kitchener may have marched his men up the Khyber path in more than one way. In fact, a contemporary journalist remarked that Kitchener "has the failing acquired by most of the Egyptian officers, a taste for buggery".

But was it really a failing? Manlove in the military kinda makes sense to me. Man-on-man action, that’s what armies are about. This is my rifle. This is my gun. This one is for fighting. This one is for fun. Bang! Bang! Reload! Queen and country and all that. No women about, just you and a lot of other blokes on the frontline. Probably the best way to stay sane. And the best way to stay alive. Who is going to look after your ass better than the guy who is tapping your ass? You know he’s got your back.

Recently there have been all these people saying: No, they shouldn’t let gays in the military… Hello! They’re already there. And it isn’t some sort of big secret. They have been there for a long time. It’s a regular love parade marching through annals of time.

Alexander the Great had Hephaestion. His favourite general. While out on campaign they shared everything including a sleeping bag. Aristotle called their friendship: one soul abiding in two bodies. Shakespeare probably would have called it the beast with two backs. Whatever the case, these two dudes kick some serious ass together.

While back in England, Richard the First spent the night in bed with the king of France as a sign of the unity between the French and English Armies. Who is to say what goes on behind closed doors but there must be a reason why we call him Richard the Lionheart? A king who couldn’t speak English, but is still regarded as one of the truly great English heroes.

Then there is Field Marshall Montgomery. The 1st Viscount of Alamein or just plain “Monty”. Who would have known it? This is the man who organized official brothels for his men. The man who outraged the clergy by saying in a memo… when a man wants a woman, he should have one. (Maybe Jacob Zuma got that memo). But there it was in the Guardian newspaper. Monty was gay. He wrote adoring love letters to the young boys under him and once was nearly expelled from Sandhurst for an incident involving a poker.

Perhaps he was just trying to murder a brown snake.