Why an alien rolled an apartheid death machine over a banana
There are two pretty sensible reasons to blow R23m on ultra-militarised Casspirs that are synonymous with apartheid
On Wednesday, three apartheid death machines, gaily painted in white and blue, were rolled off the Armscor trailer and delivered to the eThekwini Municipality, confirming Durban’s status as the mushiest, most fruit-fly-encrusted banana in the nascent banana republic that is KwaZulu-Natal.
Many have questioned why the municipality needs landmine-proof war machines, but deputy mayor Fawzia Peer is adamant that her new Casspirs are essential. Apparently rolling her eyes back in her head, clutching an Ouija board and babbling in ancient Aramaic, Peer managed to channel the damned souls of Adriaan Vlok and Magnus Malan this week, explaining that the Casspirs “will be there to safeguard our staff that are hit by stones and bricks”.
It was important, she added, that the community shouldn’t read any hostile intent into having military hardware deployed against them. “It’s to safeguard both sides,” she explained, before, one assumes, sloughing off her human bio-suit, fingering her death-ray and bleating: “Do not run! We are your friends!”
Of course, I’m exaggerating for comic effect. KwaZulu-Natal isn’t a banana republic, mainly because it isn’t run well enough to qualify as a banana republic. Fawzia Peer also isn’t a medium or a murderous alien. On the contrary, she seems to be an incredibly candid teller of truths.
Consider her words, recorded in 2018 by a resident of Reservoir Hills who was accusing her of not doing enough to deliver services.
“I'm not there for service delivery,” said Peer, producing the most honest statement by any ANC politician in living memory.
Moments later, when the resident accused one of Peer’s ANC councillors of doing nothing to help, she once again offered supreme transparency. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m not bothered by him. He is not my councillor, he is not my son. You understand I am for myself.”
Her confession was rounded off with one last, sublime truth-bomb. “I’m not here to answer to you,” said public servant Fawzia whose only job is to answer to ratepayers.
So what does all this honesty have to do with her new Casspirs?
Well, the way I see it there are two pretty sensible reasons for a municipality blowing R23m on ultra-militarised equipment that remains synonymous with apartheid.
The first is the guiding principle of the ANC in the 21st century: nobody joined the struggle to be poor. Those porcelain whippets and high-backed white leather armchairs aren’t going to pay for themselves. It would be astonishingly naive to believe that some connected wearer of pointy shoes isn’t making a pile out of this purchase.
The second is that elections are just around the corner, which means there’s a heightened risk of residents shamelessly demanding something in return for their vote. Fortunately, eThekwini can now scramble its Iron Brigade to go and remind the ingrates that it was the ANC that freed them from the teargas and rubber bullets and Casspirs, by firing rubber bullets and teargas at them out of Casspirs.
And if it all goes pear-shaped, well, you can always use them as a very-late-night secret shuttle service to King Shaka airport. If a Casspir can hold about 12 fully armed soldiers, it can certainly manage seven or eight ANC cadres with enough Louis Vuitton luggage to see them safely to Dubai ...
Admittedly, that last one is unlikely. Because why would anyone flee to Dubai when they could stay and buy murder-toys with our money while telling us to sit down, shut up and vote them back into the butter?