The election has come, and with the African National Congress having climaxed at 69, the erection of party posters on lamp-posts has ceased. Indeed, lamp-posts have been liberated to shed their usual light rather than on political messages winking at us through poster clutter. And politicians have been sworn in, although I often wonder whether it would be more appropriate to swear at some of them. In which case, the title of the magazine created by the Klein Karoo Nationale Kunstefees’s favourite iconoclast, Zebulon Dread, comes to mind: Hei Voetsek!
Just imagine a television reporter informing the world: ”At today’s swearing-at ceremony, the public lined the streets as politicians made their way to Parliament. Amid the ululating that greeted many politicians, there were also loud shouts of ‘Voetsek Manto! Voetsek Mango! Voetsek Marthinus!”’
In more mature democracies people act to ensure that politicians are, indeed, the servants of the people, but in our kortbroek democracy we still take our politicians very seriously.
We behave in an almost feudal manner, letting them believe they are our lords, and that we are but their humble servants, slaves to the rhythm of their mere presence. And so the balls of democracy get squeezed as the kortbroek gets tightened just a little more by its politician-empowered braces. Maybe it’s something peculiar to the cultural sector that has so little official attention given to it — leading to chips on both of its very narrow shoulders — so that when a politician even sneezes in our direction, we are extremely grateful that it is us who have been chosen to be the recipients of his germs.
Take the recent opening of the Democracy X exhibition at the Castle in Cape Town, where the head of Iziko Museums, Jattie Bredenkamp, gave a master class in the art of brown-nosing.
What should have been a simple, short introduction of the deputy minister (the main speaker for the night) turned out to be a lengthy sermon on her many virtues, read from the epistle of her CV, and conveyed to us in hushed, reverend tones. We heard — or we may just well have heard — of how she was destined for great things even before she was conceived, of how she was sent from the pantheon of the gods to be among us mere mortals, and of how she heroically gave up gardening to be part of the struggle. We were asked to cheer loudly in appreciation for her attending on the night.
I’m not sure if that’s because advertised politicians and government officials show up so rarely for the arts functions they are scheduled to speak at, or because the deputy minister had to battle and conquer hordes of orcs to keep the appointment.
Either way, even the down-to-earth deputy minister seemed a little embarrassed by all the fawning, and reminded all that her job ends at midnight on the day of the inauguration. By the time this column is read, she may very well be the new minister, in which case, all the licking and sucking may have been a worthwhile investment, and Iziko can thus legitimately expect an additional R20 in this year’s Budget for a bag of single-ply government toilet paper.
Certainly there are some politicians who enjoy imitating Father Christmas using public funds, and they are sometimes bettered by their unelected officials, who wouldn’t be able keep their jobs at a fast-food outlet but revel in the power they have over their battered minions. The more we prostate ourselves before them, though, the more we empower them — and disempower ourselves.
By the time this column comes out, new national and provincial ministers for arts and culture would have been appointed. Whether these appointments will reflect that politicians have any respect for arts and culture remains to be seen. In KwaZulu-Natal Amichand Rajbansi has been appointed as the minister for sport and recreation. At the time of writing, neither the premier’s office nor the ANC’s regional office could confirm whether Rajbansi’s portfolio included arts and culture, or whether these would remain with the department of education allocated to the ANC.
Let’s hope it stays with education, or we may have to brace ourselves for a spate of Minority Front ”Curry on” films: Curry on up the Garden Path. To be followed by Curry on the Bunny Chow. And all brought to you by the star of the three-hour epic, Curry on Please, Bengal Tiger.