Steve on Facebook
Sunday, 29 December 2013 12:49
Hoe was jou jaar? 31 Desember 2012 was 'n warm dog dig bewolke dag. 2013 het op 'n Sondag begin, net nadat Zuma Mangaung gevat het en daarna iets rassisties oor honde-eienaars kwytgeraak het. Die jaar skop af met Weskaapstakings en dieATP (met Kevin Anderson!), Afcon stadiums begin leeg maar Bafana verras, Sariti en die wapentransaksie omstredenheid, Lance Armstrong bely hy's 'n dwelmsmous en FNB spring op aandag vir die "gekweste" ANC. Gru moorde gaan voort in 2013. Dit sou weer ‘n interessante jaar wees vir Zuma uitsprake. 'n "Gangrape" in Indië het weer Suid Afrika as verkragtinghoofstad van die wêreld op die voorgrond geskuif.
Louis Luyt sterf en Mac Maharaj word uitgevang met sy vingers in die jêmblik. Die Oscar Pistorius en Griekwastad moorde maak ons mal en die media maller. AIG verkoop uit in rekordgetalle. Einde Februarie het die polisie en Afrikaner weer begin pak kry. Die (Engelse) Oscarsaak, die polisie reputasie, polisie wat iemand agter hul vangwa sleep, en Lulu wat Afrikaners man en Calvinisme blameer. Daarop kry die SANDF yslike pakslae by rebellegroepe in die Sentraal Afrika Republiek en almal vra wanneer sulke gesneuweldes as helde kwalifiseer. Maggie Thatcher sterf en Guptas land op Waterkloof.
VIER BRIEWE VIR JAN ELLIS gaan verhoog toe dieselfde week wat Jan Ellis sterf en my 25 JAAR SE BESTES toer skop af. Hierdie jaar het ek die grootste vyand weereens in my eie mense teëgekom. Zelda le Grange en Johrne laat die liberale media hul vuilwerk doen om my die “fallguy” van Mandela-haters te maak.Â Intussen het ek min teen die ou man wat my destyds soos ŉ heer in sy huis ontvang het. Maar die koeël is deur die kerk: Madiba se nalatenskap is nie waarvoor ek JA gestem het nie en ek twyfel sy nalatenskap is wat hy self in gedagte gehad het. Ek toer deurentyd met 25 Jaar se Bestes, ‘n Reuniereis met ou vrinne en ou wysies. Ons Oktober protesveldtog Red Oktober kry (amper te veel) aandag. Ons marsjeer vir die belangegroep gestig deur velgebaseerde ekonomiese beleid soos BEE en sterftes aan die hand van groepe buite ons eie wat die nasionale moorde en verkragsyfer deur die dak stuur. Malema stig die EFF en kry redelike steun, maar met rassekwotas trek die DA uiteindelik die streep dwarsdeur hul kiesers. Ek en Julius word gearresteer vir spoed. Die hoofnuus van die jaar was sonder uitsondering die dood van Nelson Mandela, wat ons vir ‘n wyle maak vergeet het van die ANC se twee grootste skandale/krisisse: eTol en Nkandla.
Ek wens dat 2014 vir jou ‘n beter jaar sal wees. Soos ek reis maak ek notas, sodat niks my ontgaan nie. Ek maak die lys ook uit dankbaarheid vir goeie diens en lekker vermaak. Hierdie is subjektief:
My swakste fliek:MCGRUBER
My bloedigste fliek:DJANGO
My beste aksie video: PARKER ( met Jason Strathan)
My beste videos:IRON LADY, ANNA KARENINA
My mooiste fliek: LIFE OF PI
Beste fliek 2013:CAPTAIN PHILIPS
My akteurs van die Jaar:Gerard Butler, Tom Hanks
My beste Zombiefliek:WORLDWARZ
My beste Reekse:WALKING DEAD. BREAKING BAD
Beste nuwe reeks:BANSHEE.
Janine se gunsteling chick-reeks: THE BACHELOR
Snaakste program:Stephen Fry se QI
My beste boek gelees Engels:HERZOG - Saul Bellow, CONSERVATISM - Keigan O’Hara
My beste boeke gelees Afrikaans: KLIMTOL – Etienne van Heerden, KOBRA – Deon Meyer
My beste boek oor boeke:Colin Wilson se THE CRAFT OF NOVEL
Lekkerste biografie:Carel Boshoff se DIS NOU EK
My gunsteling tydskrif:The Spectator
My beste 'Live' konsert (eie):Kreeffees op Lambertsbaai. Innibos. Afrikaans Is Groot. Hartenbos.
My beste 'Live' konsert (gesien): Nataniël. Kings of Chaos.
My beste verhoogdrama bygewoon:Sandra Prinsloo in OSKAR EN DIE PIENK TANNIES.
My beste komediant:Barry Hilton
My CD van die Jaar:EMELI SANDÉ se Live at the Royal Albert.
My gunsteling sanger van die Jaar:ELLIE GOULDING
My swakste CD:DIE ANTWOORD. Te veel styl oor inhoud is vir tendensverslaafdes. My ander teleurstelling was HURTS se tweede CD.
My top ses Afrikaanse liedjies van die Jaar: Corlea se SWART KOFFIE, Arno se RIGTERSKAAL,Ampie se KLARADYN, Jay se DIS HOE ONS ROL, Bok se LAND VAN MELK EN HEUNING en Johan C Venter se OË SOOS PÊRELS.
My nuwe rock ontdekking vd Jaar:Ponderosa se liedjie HOLD ON YOU en Seether se CD SEETHER 2002-2013
2013 se nostalgie-moment:Om Mississippi saam Pussycat se Tony Wille te sing by Aardklop.
My gunsteling boeremusieklied:Faan Rousseau se HUISIE IN DIE VRYSTAAT
Myfoon vir 2013:Galaxy Note2
My PC Games:Crysis3 en Ghost Recon, Just Cause2.
My T3's clash of 2013:iPhone6 versus Galaxy S4
My droommotors van die Jaar:Peugot Onyx, Bentley EXP 9F, Bentley Continental en die Jaguar F-typ
Toe koop ek maar:Die nuwe Chrysler 300C. My tweede een. Die keer 'n swarte.
My gunsteling ontdekkeings van 2013:Die termoelektriese tegnologie van die biolite kampstofie. Waterless Fracking. Die onthullings dat (mens-gemaakte) Globale Verwarming ‘n mite is.
Drank en Spyse
My lekkerste vleis:Rhapsody's Lynnbridge Mall se Fillet flambé, halfgaar, in growwe sout, met swart pepper en cognac.
My gunsteling staatmaker eetplek:Wang Thai (Sandton). Ek het nog nooit ‘n swak maal hier gehad nie.
My beste Wyn:Êrens langs die pad het ek ŉ goedkoop Havana Hills Cabernet Sauvignon 2008 raakgery en vreeslik geniet. En dan was daar die Diemersdal Chardonnay.
My lekkerste voorgereg: La Campagnola se Baby Marrow Soup.
My lekkerste pizza:Toni’s Pizza, Menlopark, Pta. Tony moet die Pizza Nobelprys kry.
My drankie van die Jaar:Vitaminwater XXX (proe soos ou Koolaid)
My sjokolade van die Jaar:Smarties!
My visgereg van die jaar:Adele se Seafood Chowder (toe haar kosbus in Lambertsbaai was)
My ontbyt van die Jaar:Tshahitsi Lodge (Upington). What a spread.
My ribbetjies van die jaar:Â Olde's Pub&Grill in Knysna. Met 'n yskoue Black Label draft.
My gunsteling kosondervinding (kos, diens, uitsig, geselskap) van 2013: Die Opstal Wynlandgoed te Slanghoek se Pan-Seared Beef Fillet met bloukaas en vye saam The Mill Iron 2012 (witwyn 3 kultivars). Die Boer verdien om genoem te word in ‘n stewige tweede posisie vir bobaas kuierplekke.
My skaterlag momente: Om 30 SECONDS met klein Benjamin te speel. En die Mandela Memorial se vertolker.
My hoogtepunte van die Jaar: ‘n Suksesvolle toer. Die dood van SONDAG. Facebookledetal van oor die 200 000. Trouplanne.
My laagtepunt: My spoedoortreding. Geen Bloubuleindstryd.
My verdere laagtepunt: Dat Julius se kar vinniger is.
Ek wens jou 'n wonderlike 2014 toe. Dis my drie T's jaar: TOEKA 3, trou en geen traffic-tickets....
Steve en Janine xxxxxx
Friday, 08 November 2013 14:25
"Moenie jags wees nie. Niemand gaan JA stem nie!" ("Don't be crazy. No-one is going to vote YES")
It was the late 80's. The divide was enormous. But whites who watched the news wondered where in the world all the turmoil was. Not on the road to Hartenbos and not in the elegant coaches en route to Durban.
I understood my best friend's concerns. He was an agriculture student. I was in theatre, memorising Hamlet soliloquies in baby blue leg warmers. My gran too had serious misgivings. She had paid for my drama school studies in Pretoria and now I was bound to turn out a kafferboetiemoffie (a pansy, black brother). In common Afrikaans: Satan himself. And in my bookish family, good 'heritage' was and still is tantamount to Gospel. My great-great grandfather was SA's first prime-minister, General Louis Botha. His daughter, the stately oumie Helen de Waal, whom I fondly remember, was on the Sunday Times magazine cover of 1972. The general's daughter's son-in-law was the military head of the culture organisation Die Ossewabrandwag - the covert 'Owerste'. Also a Steve Hofmeyr. (The backdrop to my latest novel, Laaste Dans Drienie).
How these Afrikaner family strands ever converged under one roof, boggles the mind. But, on the other hand, that familial strain is the Afrikaner summed up. Natte versus Sappe, verkramptes versus verligtes, a republican-democratic tug-of-war still very much a-rage, not just among Afrikaners, but also inside so many individual Afrikaners. I’m one of them.ÂÂ I find myself gravitating between these extremes all the time.
When some students punched me for doing lunch with Bethuel Mamela in 1985, I instantly understood what was happening. I had asked permission for Bethuel, the first black student at Pretoria Technicon, to have lunch with me on campus as I thought it was insane for him to take the bus to Mamelodi and then back again to Sunnyside for the afternoon’s rehearsals of our drama production. We were doing The Boyfriend. That the permission was granted, meant absolutely nothing to these thugs. I got my beating proper.
When some years later whites were confronted with a whites-only YES or NO vote - effectively for or against the New South Africa - my stance once again did not contribute to my popularity. I wanted so badly for it all to end. I wanted a Break-even Point, where Bethuel and I could freely be the peers we ought to be. Could we not just share the motherland and get it over with? I was warned it wasn’t all that simple. Ironic, too, is the fact that my generation who fought the war in Angola was the only generation who did not - and still do not - want more war. Unlike the bereted Malemas of the "revolution", real soldiers want peace.
For many, Black Consciousness in South Africa had is birth with the ANC in the 1920's. A few Blacks returned from Oxford with the idea that they would take ownership of things (like more gold than the world could handle) merely by virtue of the fact that they out-numbered others. It had nothing to do with contracts or legitimate rights. It was about numbers. No more. No less. Democracies. Majority vote. Right in the lap of the black majority.
The English didn't really mind, for two reasons. They had outnumbered everybody in Britain and could retreat to their motherland at any time. The Boer/Afrikaner had hardly had time to wipe the gunpowder and ashes from his brow. They were completely overwhelmed by the numbers against them in all their wars, both against Brits and Blacks.ÂÂ But the last war got their goat. Their families were dispersed by scorched earth policies or they were dying in concentration camps. They would now never be the majority, under no circumstances. Fortunately for them the Brits set up a Union and would later hand over the entire Republic to their former foe. Apart from eager labour, Blacks proved to be insignificant to these proceedings. They remained a footnote in the Botha, Hertzog and Smuts speeches, but nobody feared these tribes anymore: they had proven to be militarily, politically, technologically and administratively of little distinction. The former republics were sovereignties once before and the Boers would see to it that they would reach that status again. Any antagonism to what they deemed dearly and legally acquired, would be considered treasonous - nothing less. Immaterial of the birth of democracies and post-war humanitarian narratives, they guarded their proprietorship jealously:THEIR land, THEIR conquests, THEIR wars, THEIR victories, THEIR cemeteries, THEIR rules, THEIR taxes. THEIR achievements, THEIR education, THEIR health, THEIR literacy rate, THEIR employment rate, THEIR life expectancy, THEIR mortality, murder and rape rates.
Yes, you can hijack it with Struggle promises, if you could promise to improve on it. This never happened. The question - as Richard Steyn explains in Giliomee's The Last Afrikaner Leaders - is: what persuaded a small and determined minority, in control of a country that was neither defeated nor bankrupt, to hand over power voluntarily to a racial majority. My answer: something between Christian magnanimity and collective foolishness.
And propaganda. The “white-guilt” variety. Marxist-socialism’s handiest keynote: white-privilege. My answer to the question of white’s benefitting from what their pioneering ancestors brought in from the West, is: you betcha!
It was the 17th century. My (white) forefathers landed on the Dark Continent and did what Europeans then did: built schools, churches, farms, administrations, hospitals and universities. It will always be your Afrocentric right to deplore the West, but the direction of assimilation was always towards those “benefits”.ÂÂ It still is. I don’t care that we have a black government. I ask why we should not enjoy the low rape and murder stats of our white (root) countries - Holland, France and Great Britain. Why must the Mfecane be South Africa’s only benchmark? And why must my demographic/tribe/race/group pretend to internalise this vile new substandard and woeful life-expectancy, when my tradition affords us more “moderate” brutalities. The only pitiful answer I continue to get is: are you saying whites don’t rape?
I judge historical choices OUT of context only to guard against repeating mistakes. For the rest, I gladly grapple with hermeneutics. Reading history IN context, when in its time it was ridiculous to find otherwise. That (Apartheid, slavery, Inquisitions) is the way it was and children of their time did what children of their time did. For the same reason we don't abscond from Christianity simply because Jesus never reprimanded slavery, which, much like Apartheid, was also legal in its day.
The sense of entitlement on both sides of the South African coin needed thorough discussion before reconciliation or transformation would have made sense to everybody. Preferably, before we voted YES. Don't fool yourself that every South African is in agreement. Don’t pretend you do not feel the heaving undercurrent of discontent. Don’t think because the Afrikaner franchise is a smaller one, it is a minor one with minor rights to entitlement. Could it be that we have a different tolerance for these pathetic standards and too optimistic expectations for South Africans that some would march and some would not?
Red October was not a white march. All races were welcomed and attended in 58 marches in many countries from Tasmania to America. Its memorandum decried the oppression of a specific victim. A white one, this time. But how could this be done, they ask? Crime has no colour?
The Black debtor is patronised worldwide but never do they seem to accuse the paralysis of their own ancestors at any point. Never do they consider the lack of ethics for these reparations nor the human rights transgression on their side of the divide. No court will stand for anybody’s guilt-by-proxy , because if you did not do it, you cannot be punished. And if whoever did whatever, acted legally in doing so, what kind of punishment is justified? And only if the losses can actually be quantified, could someone be compensated. Consider the land reform debate: blacks want compensation for land they did not own in modern terms/titles nor in any specific areas, acres or hectares, from owners who legally acquired it in title deeds, hectares and acres. Africa held different views on land ownership (and everything else) to Westerners. Pretorius bought the suburb of Arcadia for a single pony. And then contemporary liberalism wants to punish prior generations for acting within the law. This begs the question of how we may one day be punished for actions we consider legal, constitutional and damn-well right today.
The Break-even Point I fought for as young activist, never came. Instead, my dreams were shattered by more state interference than what the Nats could ever manage and more skin-based procurement than Apartheid: BEE, AA, PP, EE, quotas, representivity, tenderpreneurship and cadre deployment. These extended discriminations would inevitably create a new unhappy victim, who could never be pacified with therapy-slogans such as: it’s not about the colour of your skin! ÂÂ Because you see, it is, isn’t it? (Tony Leon agrees: http://www.beeld.com/nuus/2013-11-07-dn-is-da-nes-die-anc)
I have marched for so many different South African victims. Even its elephants and rhinos. And I will march for this new victim as well. Because I know a victory for them will be a victory for every South African.
Hence, Red October.
Thursday, 10 October 2013 14:47
Today, 10 Oktober, Red October Day (Krugerdag) thousands gathered across the word (New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Londen, The Hague, Brussels, Ostrava and 18 cities in the USA) to remind the world that not all of us have acclimatised to the substandard life expectancy, cultural vandalism, crime and corruption, genocidal rape and murder figures we have been forced to embrace. We also demonstrated how civilised folk march. We don't strike. We don't capsize rubbish bins, we don't drop our pants for world media, we don't burn cars, we sing no hate songs, we brandish no weapons and certainly don't fire off any and, god forbid, we don't throw feces. We opened with prayer. We sang songs of love for our mother land. We read from the Bible.
Yes, we still exist. Here is a shortÂ part of my speech in English:
"I am the Afrikaner.
The one you should have kept close.
The son of Africa you should have held to your bosom, not just out there in your marketplace, but in your heart.
The one without whose vote there would be no New South Africa.
Without whose employ this land would not have once been the gem of Africa.
The one without whose magnanimity you would still be facing the mightiest defence force on this continent. But the one who chose against blood and power - only to inherit the bloodiest land in the universe.
I am the Afrikaner guilty of one thing only, forsaking the vows of his fathers.
I am the Afrikaner whose child you should have clung to. Whose laborious sons you should have kept home, when instead you chose to barter them to London, Perth and Auckland.
I am your Afrikaner. The one who chose to overlook skin-colour only to be countered with the pallor-based hypocrisy of BEE, AA, PP, EE, quotas and representivity.
I am the Afrikaner you should have slowly endeared to, not socially engineered through.
I am the Afrikaner who offered her graves, her contracts, her long recorded heritage and legitimate sovereignty for an iota of peace and brotherhood. The one you thanked with name-changes, by removing her monuments and holidays and cauterising her vast library of knowledge and history, the one you chose to keep from the workforce by virtue of her skin colour.
I am the Afrikaner who lost his mother tongue on the altar of transformation.
I am her from the last tribe of Africa still fighting for indigenous, mother-tongue education.
I am the Afrikaner, that veritable orphaned African, if you like, whom once placed this continent on the world map for more achievement than mortality rates and terror.
I am the Afrikaner, son of Africa, who established townships with the potential to become internationally renowned world cities, not rape capitols beset by the flotsam from other African countries.
I am the Afrikaner, remember me, your Southern African bridge to the West, that far off place you frenetically pretend to not assimilate to.
Now I am that Afrikaner whose victorious daughter volunteers her gold medal to mediocrity.
Now I am the Boer you tie to the sofa to witness the six-hour rape of his wife and daughters, who want to be no-where else but on the land, producing food for your family.
I am the Afrikaner who make do something out of nothing with no more than faith, fearlessness and sweat, today our three most absent articles of will.
I am the Afrikaner.
The one you should have kept close."
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