When the pre-1994 censorship legislation in this country was replaced with a less intrusive, less paternalistic set of rules, the role of the ‘watchdog” censor all but ceased to exist. Only films now have obligatory passage past the censors, this mainly to classify them into age groupings.
Censorship of what is laid before today’s South African public is left largely in the hands of those who produce, publish, broadcast or otherwise disseminate opinion, comment, dramatic and literary output. Government agencies have not been slow to adapt, establishing ‘information systems” that are, essentially, spin centres designed both to inhibit and to tailor political news and responses.
But over the past few decades and concurrently with the refinement of the corrosive social trespass of marketing, an insidious new branch office for censorship has been opened. This one is managed by big business’s counterparts for censors, what might be termed its ‘brand police”, the thug component of corporate fascism. If you don’t believe such enforcers exist, try taking a can of Coca Cola into a World Cup cricket match. Not nearly shrill enough outrage has been aired about the bully-boy marketing methods that have attended the World Cup: a display of ‘brand dictatorship” at its most peremptory.
Coincidental to this commercial authoritarianism, a high court action began in Cape Town last week where one of the largest beer manufacturers in the world, South African Breweries (SAB), made application for an interdict forbidding a tiny T-shirt ‘publisher” from parodying the label of one of its brands.
In brief explanation: a small promotions enterprise called Laugh It Off brought out a T-shirt that was a parody of a well-known beer slogan and logo. When set against established levels of South African satirical commentary, the T-shirt would be graded as no more than a mild to middling send-up. It read: ‘Black Labour, White Guilt — Africa’s lusty lively exploitation since 1652. No regards given worldwide.”
As the matter is currently before the court the merits of the legal action are best not discussed here. What should be broached is what has been revealed by SAB having actually brought this action. Why does it use a steamroller to crush an ant?
Whether the Laugh It Off T-shirt is satire or social comment is not really at issue; anyway, the two categories often overlap. What dismays is that, in bringing the action, SAB is stating it reserves its right to stifle any independent expression that might not align snugly with its marketing intentions. What is being so fiercely protected is what Justin Nurse, owner of Laugh It Off, has described as the ‘sanctity of the brand”. It is even being claimed that two local radio stations and a popular ‘investigative” television programme have refused to give airtime to Laugh It Off, presumably out of fear that SAB advertising might be withdrawn. Back door pressurising is not unknown in the media business.
SAB has claimed that if it did not act against Laugh It Off, it would jeopardise its ability to defend its trademark should similar breaches occur in the future. That is utter twaddle. The satirical parody of a T-shirt can hardly be deemed as a copyright delinquency so severe as to cause SAB to suffer some quantifiable financial damage. Laugh It Off isn’t bringing out a competing brand of beer, its label designed to look like SAB’s.
What the brewery is doing by bringing this action has far deeper resonance. Should the court’s decision go against Laugh It Off its precedent will provide business concerns both large and small with a shield behind which they may hinder and obstruct even nominal criticism of themselves or their products. That’s a dangerous possibility.
SAB spends something like R190-million a year on advertising. The high impact liquor marketing purchased with this is today’s equivalent of the dopstelsel. SAB’s marketing campaigns often present a single proposal: drinking beer is a desirable, almost essential adjunct not only to social activities but also something associated with actual sporting accomplishment. Thus we had a 1997 international cricket series sponsored by SAB which literally was awash with beer. There were something like 600 televised beer commercials a match.
Everywhere you looked were beer logos: on the corner of the television screen, vast ones painted on the field, on the wickets, on the players’ uniforms.
In some of the television ads, by means of cross-editing, sporting success was depicted as being the primary reward for drinking beer. A shot of Allan Donald taking a wicket was intercut with a shot of beer being drunk, shots of Dave Richardson taking an impossible catch or Jonty Rhodes diving at the stumps were intercut with shots of beer bottles being opened, beer being poured. The commercials advanced the counterfeit pretext that in order to be good at cricket, aspirant sportsmen have to drink beer. Just as cigarette smoking once was punted as the mark of sophistication.
Laugh It Off’s T-shirt puts the lie to SAB’s version of mercantile piracy. No wonder it’s being punished so harshly.
Archive: Previous columns by Robert Kirby