Even great minds wander. When I hear our leaders, national or global, spilling forth the predigested pabulum of their public statements, I often wonder what’s going on in their minds. As they speechify, roll out all the platitudes and clichés, what are they really thinking?
When they stand up to churn out yet another speech, they must feel like an actor does as the 200th performance of the same play gets under way. Say the words you’re paid to say. Make the gestures, smile the smiles. Your thoughts are your own.
In Parliament, a spiffily dressed national leader delivers another sequence of fatigued banalities: ‘But the fact that this negative campaign persists, despite everything that has happened in our country over the past 10 years, emphasises the need for us to join in united action to address the challenges we have identified, relating to the pursuit of the goal of a better life for all.”
But his mind romps elsewhere: ‘I hope all this is getting right up your privileged little Sandton nose, Tone old boy. Look how he’s scribbling furiously on his scrap of paper, as if anything he gets up here and says will ever make a jot of difference. It’s all about privilege, Tony. Privilege. The most moveable feast of all. You never know how quickly the guest can become the waiter.
“Which reminds me. I must get someone to tell someone to find out who supplied the smoked salmon on Fish Eagle last week. It was most decidedly off. It had Nkosazana in the head for most of the trip.”
Not even the garnering of only 1,6% of the vote in the general election was enough to suffocate the optimism of another speaker at that forum. His trousers may be short but his ambitions irrigate his veldskoene.
‘If there was one overarching mesage of the president’s speech on Friday, however, it is was that the job is incomplete, that the project remains unfinished, and that it is time to deliver the fruits of our peace.”
Stirring stuff, but inside Noddy’s head other concerns were raging: ‘And when I talk about unfinished projects I know what I’m talking about. There must be some way to get Roodefontein up and going again. I must ask Gerhardus to find out if we could get it declared a nationally vital tourist attraction.
“We could have declared bird sanctuaries in between the fairways, put a few endangered minnows in the water hazards. And put on something like the Sun City million dollar thing. I’m sure the count could cough up a €1-million to keep his investment afloat. Nee, man. Die job is nou definitely nie klaar nie.”
On another day a stalwart figure rises to speak. ‘A resolution on nutrition and physical activity to ensure a reduction in obesity. I am proud to report that South Africa chaired the task team drafting group that drafted this resolution, which is key to combating the effects of non-communicable diseases such as hypertension, diabetes and asthma, as outlined by the president.”
Upstairs other considerations whirl. ‘I see that some smart-arse in the Mail & Guardian said when it comes to obesity I could well start with the Cabinet. Fat chance I’d have getting that lot on to the Atkins diet.
“And I just wish that people with diabetes would realise that specialised insulin drug regimes are a waste of money. Those who use them are victims of the international drug companies. All they need to do is eat nothing but turnips with the occasional African parsnip thrown in. That’ll kick their blood sugar into the next Constitutional Court hearing.”
Another voice rumbles: ‘Our cooperation with Cuba will continue and so will our trilateral cooperation with health. In addition to our trilateral cooperation with Mali we have now commenced with a trilateral involving Rwanda.”
Other thoughts grumble: ‘Trilateral, bilateral, who’s counting? All I want to do is make sure I don’t ever eat another three kilos of that smoked salmon next time I’m on Fish Eagle. So much for Grace’s advice about getting it from Harrods.”
From a dimmer political corner a piping voice ascends, its vowels cloaked in regret: ‘On Zimbabwe, the government’s policy of quiet diplomacy has become a policy of tacit — sometimes explicit — support for the increasingly abusive policies of President [Robert] Mugabe. His government has destroyed the foundations of democracy in that country.”
Thoughts behind the voice belie its indignation: ‘Not that it’ll make much difference whatever I say. Heaven help me, I’ve been sitting in this depressing place ever since Aunt Edith got her tits caught in the mangle. Over the years I’ve watched them come and go. In my time I’ve stood up and shouted the odds at the worst of them.
“I sometimes think we should have taken the same route as that appalling globule, Van Schalkwyk. Get a share of the spoils. Though, say what you like, old Thabo has got a lot of style. It was absolutely charming of him to send us that gift packet of smoked salmon.”