Where are the coloured Guptas?

Let’s face it, “our” coloureds have an image problem.

It isn’t really about the fondness for boxed Autumn Harvest, and the curlers at the Waterfront.

And it certainly can’t be about smacking down a columnist who served up a few stale caricatures. Or even about the unfortunately phrased utterances of a government functionary.

Perhaps it has a lot to do with the fact that recently, coloureds have done the ANC no favors, in a manner of speaking.

Sure, there’s that business of the Western Cape voting in the NNP/NP/DA since 1994. And that tired old refrain of “first not being white enough, now not being black enough” that every nappy-headed child learns at ouma’s knee.

Nor is this in any way to discount the past. Or to diminish the contribution of thousands who took to the streets during apartheid, who swelled the ranks of the UDF, and who lost their freedom and some their lives — for this country.

And nobody’s for a minute forgetting the Matteras, Esacks, Frasers, Gools, Caroluses, Manuels, Jansens, Boesaks, Duartes et al who have and continue to enrich our public life, or in some cases, stink it up.

But we’re talking about not doing favours, here. Real ones.

What’s missing from the abovementioned Chronicle of Goodness is the twilight netherworld inhabited by men of means, whose reputations may be slightly less than savoury, but who know a good BEE deal when they see one. Or, as it may be, a palm in need of a grease.

Men (they usually are) adept at weaving their web of patronage around well-connected persons in power. Messrs Moneybags who take First Chicks under their benevolent wing, and there nurture them until they’re clucking and well-fed enough to leave the nest. (Or buy majority shares in it). Or who hand over the keys to their 100-year-old mansions to distressed politicians.

It has been controversially put in the past that everyone in the ANC “has their Indian”, whether it’s to sign fat donation cheques or to throw in a custom-made paisley shirt or two. Maybe it’s ditto for other races, too, but we don’t hear about it.

Maybe some, too have “their” Afrikaners, and score free game drives and a lifetime’s supply of Mpumalanga oranges.

In return, you’ll add some star power to a daughter’s wedding here, break some sweetmeats at a Diwali function there. You’ll maybe even don a toppie and give a tedious speech at a mosque, where you’ll no doubt be lectured back on the benefits of conversion (and its perk — polygamy)

But when last did anyone hear of anyone having “their” coloured? It could be they’re too busy washing their All Stars, or diving for perlemoen — but one doesn’t see many brown faces supping at the High Table of Patronage these days. The closest was Jessie Duarte. But like as we are told a “typical” coloured woman, she had a hissy fit, probably swore, and left.

Then there were the two coloured loudmouths who tried to sink some important people in the ANC. Mrs De Lille blew the whistle on the arms deal, and Mr McCarthy nearly got Jacob Zuma in the dock for corruption.

Far from having any by his side — it wouldn’t be surprising if the president sees coloureds in his nightmares.

But it’s never too late to change perceptions.

Someone in “the community” with lots of money to donate to worthy causes would do well to consider this: the inclusion of coloureds in today’s ANC vision of non-racialism depends heavily on them.

To every businessman, entrepreneur or merchant (and that means both kinds) reading this — it’s time to put your teeth in (ahem), and your cheque-book out.

The days of being toothless (ahem) are over. An entire nation’s future rests on your shoulders.

To the genuine merchants, it wouldn’t hurt to invite an MP or well-connected businessman over for koesiesters on Sunday, would it? Think out of the box: today it may be just a business out of your car boot in Hout Bay — tomorrow you could end up owning I&J itself!

And as for the “other” merchants, all those perlemoen and mandrax profits have got to go somewhere, and there’s only so many Jack Purcell takkies you can buy. So why not donate to a worthy cause? Given the laxity of rules on party donations nobody need know how many of your own people were poisoned in order to pay for that party at Gallagher Estate. If enough of you start giving, it might eventually even become tax-deductible.

Now there’s something to sink your teeth (ahem) into …

Having entered the hallowed domain of the ANC and the influential Youth League’s good graces, the possibilities are limitless. One can be sure of one thing, there’ll be a lot less talk of “over-concentrated” coloureds then. Coloured may just end up being The New Black.

Boeta Moegamat, Auntie Khadija and cousin Zenobia can hold their heads up high in any city across the land. And never face another racial and ethnic slur for being of mixed race, which most of the world is anyway.

We’ve had the Curry Mafia. It’s time for The Snoek Mafia.