I'm a coconut and I'm proud of it -- say it with me

A few weeks ago, I wrote a piece entitled “Of racists, kaffirs and coconuts” in which I wondered out loud if such a thing as a kaffir actually existed. That was at the height of the “Khoza fingers the kaffir” row. In that piece, I promised that I would return to the subject to complete my thoughts.

I have a confession to make. I set a trap for you, my readers. In the very last sentence of that blog, I consciously made a vague allusion to DJ Fresh, the 5fm presenter. I must thank you my sheeple for falling for the trap like a fruit fly on crack for the Venus flytrap’s tricks. You came out guns blazing in condemnation of Fresh’s allegedly coconutty ways. And, to sweeten the deal, some readers even threw in Talk Radio 702’s Redi Direko. I call such moments the good times.

I guess the most important question here is: What is a coconut? I think that it is sufficient to explain the term “coconut” as a black person with white values. Fair enough? OK, if you want to be pedantic and pick at those nits, I suppose you could throw in white mannerisms, speech, behaviour and perhaps even dress sense.

The reason I am honing in on white values is simple. I think that people who use words like “coconut” do so because they lack the vocabulary to say what they really mean, which is “Eurocentric”. I have sufficient lack of faith in human intelligence to predict that someone will attempt to come up with a definition of a typical white person. Some people have the optimism of a horny Chihuahua attempting to mount a Great Dane in heat.

But let us pretend for a second that there is such a thing as a typical white person on which these self-loathing black coconuts model themselves. I am personally not aware of such a prototype of a white person. Who is more typically white: Casper de Vries or Bill Gates? David Bullard or Britney Spears? I hope the question is as absurd to you as it is to me. It makes just as much sense as asking which is better: a shoe or a banana?

However, there are pointers to what it is that people mean when they describe others as coconuts. I’m going to invite the wrath of the nitpickers by trying to summarise of the behaviours that are attributed to people such as Fresh and Redi that apparently make them coconuts:

1. Coconuts speak English most of the time and they do so with an accent that is “white”.
2. Coconuts seem to be very comfortable in white people’s company and may have many white friends.
3. Coconuts, in their sickening coconuttiness, will often express views that seem at loggerheads with African values.

I guess that if I had the time, I could write a much longer list. I could even write a 500-page thesis and get academic accolades from the funny guys in frocks at graduation ceremonies. I am frankly not interested. So let us respect my laziness and confine ourselves to these three coconutty ways.

I think that holding it against people that they speak English with this, that or another accent is the height of stupidity. That is tantamount to dispensing sanction for the ability to learn. Stay with me here. English is the language of the English. One can therefore make an argument that the best English is likely spoken by the English. Not strictly true, of course, but there are reasons why people like David Beckham speak like they have neither a hard palate nor an upper lip. Let’s choose a typical Oxbridge English professor as an archetype of the English speaker, then.

Here’s the thing; most so-called coconuts speak the way they do because they studied in previously white schools. What would personally worry me more is if someone went to Michaelhouse in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands for five years and emerged on the other side sounding like Fikile Mbalula. You will be amazed at the number of people who will descend upon me like dung beetles on a sewer spill and accuse me of saying there’s something wrong with the way Fikile speaks English. In a word: no.

All I’m saying is that there’s nothing strange about people the acquiring speech patterns of those around them. I have a brother who lived in Rome for only three years and when he came back he could not speak without flailing his hands. Mbalula speaks English the way he does because I imagine that everybody around him spoke English that way. Redi Direko speaks English the way she does because everybody around her spoke English that way. If she spoke any other way, this would either make her fake, at best, or an impregnable fortress of stupidity, at worst. Is this seriously a point that needs to be specifically stated?

As for black people having white friends, well, take me to the Noord Street taxi rank, strip me down to my drawers (not nude in this weather, please — shrinkage) and parade me as a coconut. Guilty as charged. But I’ve always just assumed that the whole thing about a non-racial society, freedom of association and all of those goodies in the Constitution was not some kind of gag-reel material. Unless, of course, breaking bread with them pale people is seen as fraternising with the enemy, in which case you’ve got me seriously worried now. Some of them are OK, you know. Others can even resist their genetic disposition to taking a whizz in people’s food. I think we can move right along.

But the bit about this whole coconut business that I find fascinating is the third attribute of coconuts: that is, black people who depart from African norms and values. First off, African values are, in themselves, a deep mystery wrapped up in a riddle to me. They are as much of a mystery as “white values”, as alluded to earlier (he hastens to add, lest the pan-Africanists descend upon him like fireflies on a fluorescent condom in the dark).

Much brighter people than I have grappled with the whole notion of culture, values and norms. All I’ve ever taken out of these wise people is that there are many questions to be answered about the dynamic nature of any particular culture and its traditions. The more astute have probably picked up the fact that I’m all over the dartboard like a drunk in a pub on Saturday night with the usage of terms such as “culture”, “tradition”, “norms” and “values”. That’s because they reside in the same box in my brain, which is neatly labelled “culture and shit like that”. What I know about the subject matter is dangerously little, but I have established a rich tradition of proudly displaying my ignorance. So here goes nothing.

I think that culture/tradition/values/norms are dynamic and subject to external influences. The external forces in these parts of the world were introduced to us by a bunch of guys in tight pants who appeared from the sea in a cruise liner called the Dromedaris. They were later joined by another bunch of okes from a tiny island who went about dispensing their own brand of culture that involved minimal baths and speaking through their noses.

I guess one could argue correctly that the brutality of the methods employed to dispense these values was disgusting. You would get no resistance from me. I’d toyi-toyi right next to you and chant anti-imperialist slogans. Of course I’d run away shrieking like a little girl when the first rubber bullet was discharged and call it “a strategic retreat” afterwards. Not everybody has the stomach to be a revolutionary, you know. The only role some of us can play is to wander this wasteland called South Africa like Kwai Chang Caine from Kung Fu, muttering pseudo-intellectual mumbo-jumbo.

I guess that the disgust that some people exhibit towards those they call “coconuts” is understandable. I imagine that if one holds dear these African values, the perception that some black people seem to be turning their backs on them must be pretty disgusting. I’m personally not one such person. I have always just operated from a “live and let live” standpoint. And if you’re going to cast the first stone at people because they don’t satisfy your “African enough” criteria, then you have a responsibility to share your criteria.

My (hopefully) obvious point here is that Africanness is relative. A few years ago I was having just this debate with someone and I was sufficiently moved to put together this graph:

I hope the graph illustrates my simple point. Even as we castigate those whom we think have embraced Eurocentric norms, in the eyes of many others we are guilty of exactly the same thing. If my granddad saw me now, he’d shake his head and call me a &^*%ing coconut. And from where he’d be standing, he’d be right too.

Is JZ a coconut? Well, it depends, doesn’t it? His mates from his goat-herding days who never left Nkandla probably think he’s a freaking coconut, what with all his suave city ways, complicated English and snazzy suits from Casanova. I could be wrong of course.

Because this is Thought Leader, there has to be a point somewhere in this maze of circular logic. I guess my point is that I see no value in these pointless finger-pointing exercises in which we engage. I personally think that DJ Fresh is an articulate, smart brother who has done well for himself. He is clean-living, does not do drugs (or is smart enough to snort in private), is a family man and doesn’t engage in stupid behaviour in public. I think there’s a name for this, but it escapes me. Ah, yes: a great role model.

Is the best description for Fresh a “coconut”? This is a man whose heart is so much in the right place that he has started the DJ Fresh Foundation, which has raised millions of rands for needy kids (often known as ubuntu) to go to school, for the record. I personally don’t care whether he pronounces the word “matter” or “mutter”, like the president. I think this is a man worthy of emulating. If that makes him a coconut, you can call me a coconut too.

As a matter of fact, I’ll say it for you, granddad. I’m a coconut and I’m proud of it.

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