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A friend of mine sent me a link to a story about a man from Bushbuckridge who attempted suicide in protest over the state’s meddling in his private life.

Ever since a young, sweaty, cross–eyed Afrikaner SAP constable caught up with me on the foyer of the EG Malherbe Library at the then University of Natal in the early 90s, and proceeded to kick the bejesus out of my ribcage while shouting ‘Ek sal jou bliksem jou [naughty word that rhymes with punt],’ I have steered clear of championing causes. My motto in life since then has been, ‘I will only get involved in the struggle if they start threatening beer production’.

And frankly, Tito and Trevor are starting to piss me off just a little. I mean; R40 for six bottles filled with fermented crushed malt juice and some yeast? What the hell are we paying for here? This would make sense if there was like a one gazillionth of an ounce nugget of platinum in there. I’d probably have a kilo by now.

But this story has made me mad and I’m coming out of retirement. Silwane the weak–bellied revolutionary is back. Let’s be clear on the facts of the story:

Witty Malapane, a man from Bushbuckridge (amazing how it’s always some place obscure), frustrated with having his hands being tied by our pinko–liberal, punk–ass laws, broke the windows in his house, popped them into his mouth like peanuts, set his house on fire and tried to commit suicide.

This whole fracas was triggered off when his “daughters told him that they would do as they pleased, and that included going out with men at any time they felt like it, because they have rights.” The dirty little tramps.

I hope Thabo Mbeki is happy.

But seriously; what kind of country are we living in that forces honest men to resort to this type of destructive behaviour? Why can’t a man be able to lay down the law inside the confines of his own freaking house? Every aspect of our lives is governed by rules and we all know that there is a silent ‘or else’ at the end of each rule.

For instance, I’d love to walk on stage while Steve Hofmeyr was busy polluting the atmosphere with his ‘music’ and trash all his equipment to make him stop. But the law says I can’t and if I proceed, there’s an ‘or else’ that will culminate in my front teeth being knocked out with a brick for ease–of–forced–fellatio at C–max. Why can’t a man do the same in his own house? Is it really unreasonable for a man to insist on chastity for his own daughters until they can afford to get their own houses and make their own rules?

Okay, I’ll admit that our Witty over there seems a little ‘thick as thick does’ to paraphrase Forrest Gump. He must have been sipping on some potent witblitz when he made these decisions (and let’s not lose sight of the fact that we have Tito and Trevor to thank for that one; what with the price of a beer quart these days). But let me see if I’m getting this one right;

My horny little harlots are irritating me.

That short little man at the Union Buildings says I can’t mete out some traditional foot–up–the–rump justice.

So I break my own windows, snack on the glass fragments and torch my own house?

Witty is clearly a little witless — probably from silica–deficiency, which explains his dietary habits. And you must admit; the bit where the reporter, Riot Hlatshwayo (clearly born circa 1976 with that name) describes how “when it became too hot, he jumped out of a window’ displays the type of spinelessness that is part of the rot in our society. People just don’t have the cojones to stick to their guns anymore. If you promise to burn for a cause, stick to your convictions goddamnit. But let’s not judge the victim here.

Riot the reporter goes on to describe how the “police have opened a case of malicious damage to property against Malapane.’ Whose property? What the hell is going on here? You mean to tell me I cannot sommer smash up my own things? I dare anybody to come arrest me now. [Picks up his beer bottle, hoists it high up, realizes there’s still a little bit left, drinks all of it and then smashes it to smithereens on his own floor.]. I double dare the cops to come for me, those yellow–bellied bastards scared of the idiots running amok in Alexandra killing innocent people. It’s much easier arresting innocent people trying to instil moral values on their kids.

It’s enough to make a man smash his own windows and eat glass. Which brings me to my point. The young lion of EG Malherbe Library roars again. I have decided to make a stand against this injustice. This brave man from Bushbuckridge needs our help. I have a sneaky plan that even that Machiavellian man on the hill won’t see it coming.

On the 14th of June, Witty appears in the Bushbuckridge magistrate’s court on these ridiculous charges of breaking his windows and consuming his own glass. Please join me as we protest outside the court with our ‘Free Witty’ placards and threaten to smash window panes on the floor and eat the fragments. I have successfully managed to organise a sponsor: Glasfit. I approached PG Glass but they said they only have that shatterproof rubbish. We can’t have that.

This is the kind of thing that’s forced me to vote ACDP in the next elections. The Rev. Meshoe was the only one with the vision to see where this was going and he made a gallant stand against this amoral constitution. On the 14th of June let’s all go to Bushbuckridge and show them that we are gatvol and that we are not afraid.

We few! We happy few! We band of glass bandits! Who will bleed with me on the 14th?

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