I started writing this column at the invitation of the then-editor, Aziz Hartley. The invitation was based on my reputation as a reader of very long standing.
It was a pure accident that I also happened to have spent many years perfecting my skills in what was then the King’s (1940s), and since became the Queen’s English for a hideously long time.
Eventually, we have come full circle and are now back to speaking the King’s English, Charles having ascended the throne.
This introduction is quite pivotal. I need to say that it has been a lifelong ambition to empower people through the power of language.
My religion tells me that in the beginning there was the Word, and the Word was God, and the Word was with God.
The Holy Qur’an came about when the Angel Gabriel commanded the Prophet (PBUH) to write down God’s injunctions for a good life and a totally happy afterlife.
These reaffirmations are very relevant because we have lost the plot in our attempt to make our short stay on Earth as pleasant as possible.
Many of our excellent columnists are asking why the promises made after post-colonialism never came to fruition. They question the awful reality that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
I cannot see how life became better for me except through my tendency to echo Captain WE Hemley’s excellent poem of affirmation that is still relevant, but sadly neglected:
It matters not how straight the gate/ how charged with punishment the scroll/I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul. (Invictus:1875).
It is important for me that this poem was composed while Henley was in hospital.
Later in my experience, it was quoted by no less than Madiba and featured prominently in the film on the national game of rugby.
Now I want to use the rest of my allotted space to say how I feel the country can perhaps learn from my own experience that success only equals the effort one puts into the pursuit thereof. I had the joy of watching the telecast of the Budapest Athletics event. What excellence.
I had the shuddering disbelief of reading about an invitation from the ANC for us to comment on and advise on changes to the marriage laws and all the implications. A disaster in the making.
I have read with increasing horror the myth that BRICS is a viable alternative to the capitalist gangsters who have ruled the world since the days of the Medici family in Italy. I have read how South Africa puts up shows to impress visitors who subscribe to such puerile infancy. And I bite my nails in agony.
We have the best fruit in the world. We are leading exponents of animal husbandry. We are blessed with every conceivable mineral on the Periodic Table. We have teachers and doctors at the international level. Some of our students (when they are not out asking for free handouts) compare favourably with the best the world has to offer.
Are we even aware that we had a few world-class athletes at the recent World Athletics? Only a supposed false start robbed us of at least one gold medal.
I bet we have other athletes in other disciplines who are waiting for an organised national effort to do what the Netherlands Ladies Relay Team did.
I attended the 1963 Tottenham Hotspur slaughter of the South African National XI. Stanley Matthews, during a visit to Soweto, expressed an opinion that has caused us nothing but grief and consternation ever since. He said (and I paraphrase): … the African child has a natural talent for soccer … I was horrified at the callous lack of vision then, as now. We have never thought beyond this damnably shallow and limited opinion.
Let us sit down and do a self-search as I have tried. It might not be pleasant, as this column might not be pleasant. But it is the kind of truth we need to face. We are captains of our own fates. What happens to you is what you allow.
* Alex Tabisher.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
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