Tsepiso S Mothibi
Ears open… the elders are discussing boxing, and the name ‘Ali’ is repeated over and over again. Pugilism is the word in fashion and where boxing matches are the news of the day, where no TV screens are exist, where the bioscope comes only occasionally, and only the radioman’s static voice is present on the shortwave daily an account of a boxing match announced on the radio the previous day is the only news the old man can sit and talk about over a calabash of mqombothi and a game of moraba-raba.
The name ‘Ali’ is mentioned a million times as the young man grows into maturity. Shutter click…the young African boy sees the pictures of “The Greatest” boxer who ever lived in the pages of one of a numerous number of biographies published on the life of Cassius Marcellus Clay Jnr, the young boy who decided to take the law into his own hands and punch the living daylights out of a bully who stole his bicycle, and grew into the greatest pugilist of all time; more popular across the globe than Shakespeare, The Beatles, and all the rock bands combined.
The little black boy from Louisville, Kentucky, never claimed to be famous than Jesus like John Lennon did, he did not need to, the blur of the speed of his fists put him in the rightful place on the pedestal where legends are placed before they are metamorphosed into myths.
Where Achilles failed due to the weak spot in his heel, Muhammad Ali danced in entrancing circles that left his opponents’ heads spinning from the flurry of hooks, uppercuts, and straight shots that left the spectators in packed arenas screaming their voices hoarse and watchers across the globe glued on the small screens. Forhis execution of the fight in the ring is legendary, unsurpassed, and his speeches full of bravado came in a machine-gun rat-a-tat, tat that boasted, goaded and incited opponents to fall into the trap of endless punches that landed faster than a camera can see in slow-motion, faster than the rap artist Eminem can speak, quicker than the strike of a black mamba, so fast that they seemed like an endless blur too quick for his opponents and the spectators to see, and in fact, the only thing those watching could see were the poor opponents falling senseless to the canvas like sacks of potatoes after being knocked out by the man whose punches could indeed “sting like a bee”, the man whose dancing in the ring had the beauty of a butterfly floating on the currents of air in the idyllic Halcyons of ecstasy where all who were watching would be.
One cannot just write about Ali, one does not punctuate sentences like they would when writing about the greatest legend of modern times, for his speeches were reminiscent to a poetry reading by Allen Ginsberg with the depth of the psalmists, Plato and the prophets of ancient times merged into one figure whose word matched his act, he who put loquacity on a level at par with prestige, magnificence, brilliance, exquisiteness, gorgeousness… the man whose rise to glory matched the blast of an atom bomb’s mushrooming, and whose actions made the understanding of the butterfly effect theory clear to even the dimmest unscientific minds.
Flash forward to the present… Muhammad Ali (Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jnr.) passed on aged 74 on the 3rd of June, 2016, and the whole world mourned. In an article published in the Washington Post on the 4th of June, George Foreman (whom he fought in the famous “Rumble in the Jungle” bout in Kinshasa, Zaire (DRC) in 1974), a former adversary and brother in arms mentions sadly:
And if a former opponent says this about a man who once punched him to a pulp, then you know that the black boy from Louisville was indeed “The Greatest” as he used to declare in the days when the boxing ring was his home. As said earlier, there is just no prescribed way one can write about a man as great as Muhammad Ali, the only way one can write about him is in reverence; for you cannot write an obituary about a superhero whose name has governed the Guinness Book of Records for over 30 years, who was named the Sportsman of the Century, Sports Personality of the Century by BBC and other houses and institutions of high repute: such heroes never die, they donot go to the grave as we the cannon-fodder of this world’s endless wars do, but rather, they live on and on and on and on until the end of the end of time, finish and klaar!
So, the boy who was urged to learn how to fight before challenging others by reverend police officer Joe Martin will never really die in our die-heart fan hearts, but will live on to be told and retold in endless countless versions that will go on to be printed by various publishing houses of print on various and myriad numbers of media for the world to consume to feed the will to go on and to hold on in the face of a bleak oblivious future that threatens to dim even our brightest dreams to be and to live as God of our forefathers and the universe wish. Muhammad Ali is the greatest man that ever lived in his own right, and now that he has passed on, I believe it right that I should quote briefly of his achievements and life and words.
A brief pictorial biography by Kate Wiant states that Muhammad Ali was married four times:
Wife: SonjiRoi (cocktail waitress, m. 14-Aug-1964, div. 1966) Wife: Belinda Boyd (“Khalilah”, m. 1967, div. 1977) Wife: Veronica Porche (m. 1977, div. 1986) Wife: Yolanda Williams (“Lonnie”, m. 1986)
He has seven daughters and two sons. His daughter Laila followed in his footsteps and became a boxer in 1999; she is an undefeated super middleweight boxer. Some speculate that due to the many injuries he endured throughout his career, he developed Parkinson’s disease. He has raised substantial funds for the Muhammad Ali Parkinson Centre in Phoenix, Arizona. His efforts have extended to supporting the Special Olympics and Make a Wish Foundation. He has helped many in need throughout the world, and in 1998, he was elected United Nations Messenger of Peace due to his efforts in developing countries. He was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom from George W. Bush in 2005. He also received the President’s Award from the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People) for his work in public service. He carried the torch for the 1996 Olympics.
In the same class as the iconic Nelson Mandela, Muhammad Ali was always a pacifist and humanitarian, as is seen by his refusal to enlist in the American army during the Vietnam War which led to his licence being revoked and he was suspended from professional boxing for his refusal because he did not believe in the war. I am sure the work of Ali cannot be covered in brief biographies, and so I find it fitting that I should fill the rest of this piece with his beautiful quotes, the first of which comes from his autobiography The Soul of a Butterfly penned in unison with his daughter:
When I looked in the mirror I was proud of what I saw, but there were many Black people who didn’t want to be Black anymore. Little Black boys and girls had no public role models. We didn’t have any heroes who looked like us. There was no one for us to identify with, and we didn’t know where we fit in. (The Soul of a Butterfly)
Everything that God created has a purpose. The sun has a purpose. The clouds have a purpose. Rain has a purpose. Trees have a purpose. Animals have a purpose; even the smallest insects, and fish in the sea have a purpose. (The Soul of a Butterfly)
Regardless of how large or small, we were all born to accomplish a certain task. It is the knowledge of that purpose that enables every soul to fulfil itself. One person with knowledge of his life’s purpose is more powerful than ten thousand working without that knowledge. (The Soul of a Butterfly)
Don’t Count the Days; Make the Days Count. (The Soul of a Butterfly)
Muhammad Ali was deeply serious as he was very witty and humorous; some of the lighter vein quotes include these:
I am so bad I make medicine sick
If I wasn’t a boxer, I wouldn’t be famous. If I wasn’t famous, I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m doing now.
Muhammad Ali could speak , speak far better than many of us can dare to speak, and he knew himself far more than many of us will ever get to know of themselves. I just wish we could follow his example and live our lives to the full, according to the purpose God set out for us, like Muhammad Ali taught. For those as he is, we write no eulogies, compose no threnodies or dirges; for those as he is never die but live on to be shared as folklore around fires to inspire future human genrations into being better humans: float on butterfly, though the pain of your passing stings as would the sting of a bee to me. Float on…
Trump and Iran
“ . . . One orb to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.”
Five months ago, during Donald Trump’s visit to Saudi Arabia, he was invited to open the “Global Center for Combating Extremist Ideology”. (I’m not making that up.)
The huge, darkened room they were in looked like a cross between a starship bridge and a television control room.
And there was a photo op, as there always is at these events, but this one was different.
There was a glowing orb on a pedestal, with the continents in black and the seas in pale grey.
Trump, King Salman of Saudi Arabia, and Egyptian dictator General Abdel Fattah El-Sisi all put their hands on it as if they owned it – and held the pose for almost two minutes.
The radiant globe (and the illuminated floor) lit their faces from below.
If you want to make somebody look evil, light the scene dramatically from underneath, and they did look evil in a comic-book sort of way.
Like the three witches in Macbeth, suggested conservative commentator Bill Kristol. And everybody knew that their curses were aimed at Iran.
Now Trump has directed more curses at Iran, declaring that he will pull the United States out of the 2015 agreement that prevents Iran from developing nuclear weapons for the next ten years.
Or rather, he has announced that Congress will do that – but the Republicans probably don’t have enough votes in the Senate to make it happen.
Why didn’t he do it himself? Maybe he just wanted to share the blame. Every one of Trump’s senior officials and advisers has told him not to do it, and so have all of America’s allies.
Every other signatory to the treaty – Britain, France, Germany, Russia, China and the European Union – also says it will continue to abide by it no matter what the United States does.
Trump says Iran is cheating on the deal, but Yukiya Amano, head of the International Atomic Energy Agency, said Iran is implementing it faithfully, and all the other signatories agree.
Trump doesn’t like the fact that Iran tests ballistic missiles, or supports dictator Bashar al-Assad in Syria, and says they are against the “spirit” of the treaty, but those things were not part of the deal. If there is one thing Trump understands, it’s contracts. If the words are in the contract, then it’s part of the deal.
If they aren’t, then it’s not part of the deal. There is nothing in the treaty with Iran that says it has to do everything the US wants, and nothing either that says it must not do things that Washington does not like.
It’s strictly about Iran not working on nuclear weapons, and the other countries dropping their sanctions against Iran.
And why does Trump want to kill the treaty anyway? One reason is that he is pursuing a bizarre vendetta against ex-president Barack Obama, seeking to erase every one of his legislative and diplomatic achievements regardless of their value.
But he has also fallen in with bad company.
Trump really is one of the three witches now: he has joined the alliance of conservative Arab states against Iran, although it doesn’t serve any imaginable US interest to get involved in a war between Saudi Arabia and Iran.
You can blame that choice on Trump’s ignorance, perhaps, but Saudi Arabia and Israel are run by well-informed and intelligent people. Why do they want to cancel the nuclear deal?
On the face of it, it makes no sense. If your choice is between Iranian nuclear weapons some time after 2025 (if the treaty isn’t renewed or extended before then), or Iranian nuclear weapons in one or two years’ time (if it is abrogated now), why would they prefer the latter?
Yet they do. Their unspoken calculation may be that if the nuclear agreement does get trashed, then there will eventually be a war – but the United States will be on their side.
There is no doubt that Trump can pull out of the treaty even if Congress will not do it for him. He just has to declare new sanctions against Iran, which is well within his power. And if he does, other Western companies trading in Iran will find themselves banned from the huge American market unless they go along with the ban, so they will probably comply no matter what their governments say now.
But even if all that comes to pass, Trump cannot stop Iran from making nuclear weapons once the treaty is gone.
The United States would probably suffer no grave damage as a result, as it is a long way from Iran. The Arab states and Israel could suffer greatly, but turkeys vote for Christmas all the time.
keep on moving
The recurring image of the bus as a universal motif representative of the political landscape on the African continent has proven itself true time and time again. Only the drivers change, the bus however remains the same, and the African voter, diligent in the attendance of the polls and the selection of the next leader/driver: is the driver’s passenger for all seasons of time and history.
How some choose to take the back seat and others choose to chase the seat in the house on top of the hill is a mystery that is quite easy to fathom; it is a choice to be led on the basis of commitments to other professions or some other means of ‘subsistence’ (for the truth remains that most of the African population live below the poverty line, and therefore, many of those one sees are not existing, but rather, droves of individuals are forced to swallow the bitter pill of subsistence to survive the day and have some guarantee that they will see the next day).
Why these masses that subsist for the sake of seeing someone succeed and go on into the house where they will either choose to parley in parliament for the needs of those that elected them into the house, or, to nod the day off in disinterest vexes my understanding.
The politics of the land are the most prominent aspect of the daily life of the state, and when the politics follow a path that is unclear, the citizens of the land are bound to be one confused mass whose opinions do not answer the questions that serve the questions on how best we can progress. What one is bound to hear as an observer is not what can lead the country forward, but rather, the polarised view of the fanatic that holds their leader on the same pedestal as pagans put their deity on: and when the masses become fanatical instead of being objective on the discussion of core and salient aspects of appropriate governance such as the determination of peace and stability, then the state is doomed to failure as an entity that drives the citizens towards progress.
The process of progress is not influenced by the exalted speeches from podiums; it is not advanced by unfulfilled lobbyist promises. The process of progress is driven by the politician’s commitment to the development of the land and the people, and not only a certain sector that supports or supported the politician in the years of their rise to the high seats of power where the ease of access to stipends and per diems drives many an individual insane and renders them megalomaniac. Progress needs a calm environment to fully blossom, for progress demands total peace and calm to reveal its full potential.
Lesotho has to this day never explored its full potential largely due to the politician’s view that they are some tribal chief, and not civil servants that are supposed to the needs of the masses that elect them into office. The supporters of the ‘ruling party’ often hold the false notion that they have the right of access to even the most basic of services; before the others that came before them, before all of those that may or may not have elected the ruling party into power.
The politician thus works hard to answer the demands of those that elected them into power, and in so doing, the politician loses the true purpose of their office in parliament (playing marionette to the crowd of puppeteers posing as supporters). I think not that the office of the president or the prime minister should be the kind of turf where the interests of only a given sector of society are given heed. This office is there to serve the needs of the all of society political and apolitical.
A friend of mine recently told me that this is the season when all the hoes and the boats are cleaned, the former have their blades given a thorough sharpening, and the latter have their hulls polished. There is a new government in power, and its ascent to the top of the house should mean that the new season when new strategies shall be implemented is in; the rites of spring should be sung! The slight hitches and the glitches in the wheels of progress should be oiled away, because the truth is that this country has not enjoyed a single year of comfort since independence in 1966!
All that has been is a sugar-coated kind of democracy where the winning party followers proclaim their Pyrrhic victories amidst a cacophony of election losers murmuring in the background. Basotho have since time immemorial been a nation of murmurers, and none that is bold enough to complain is given due ear. The complainer is often hated for voicing their opinion, and this makes one to form the question: why should issues that affect the nation be treated like hushed wrongs? Being diplomatic about matters that have up to this stage served as fuel for division, polarisation, and continued rivalry will in the long term do this nation a disservice (that is, we shall never progress as a society, state, and nation).
Not everyone understands the true purpose of modern politics, but every John thinks they discuss the matters that are of great concern to every citizen of this here land from the john. Matters that should have long ago been discussed in the house where those that are elected, those that are paid to discuss them, and those who have a clearer understanding on how to deal with matters of national concern, are finding their way into little moot courts of the blind and pseudo-parliaments on street corner radio stations as hot topics of discussion.
Whether the matter should be handled on such open platforms is not the concern, for the main focus for most of these untaught disc jockeys is self-aggrandisement at the expense of the rest of the nation and the blind polarised listeners. Every issue has its own kind of platform in a democracy, not everything can be discussed everywhere, and not all things are suitable for every ear everytime (those that disagree might just have to allow me to put a strip dancer’s pole where their preacher has his podium). The world we live in is now full of figures that think they know, and personally speaking, I do not think it wise for anyone to declare that they know; for there is never a point in the life of man when one fully knows: we are forced to keep on moving in search of more knowledge.
A song by a band that I follow to the heart has the lyrics:
Everyday, wheels are turning, and the cry still returning
Never having created an environment for healthy politics where there shall be no pointing of fingers but true commitment to seeing this country that once was the beacon of Southern Africa get out of the political mess (rut) it is in, the Basotho are now stuck with a monster that they created by thinking that addressing issues head-on was a sin. In the 1950’s, Lesotho was economically sound and had one of the best universities in the region. Fifty years later, countries whose students used to attend the same university have better stories of progress to tell in terms of the developments they have contributed towards in their home nations.
Those Lesotho graduates that had the opportunity to go to school come back with disappointment and uncertainty (getting an occupation matching with the letter earned at varsity is lotto). And the Basotho still grumble on, forcing themselves to be content with little, increasing the poverty pool with the measly salaries and bloated senses of pride. These kinds of aspects have ensured that Botswana leads the pack despite being a late bloomer.
Movement in pursuit of a clear goal is never fettered by the booing of the jealous and often conceited watchers. The goal is more important than the jeers of the spectators, for they are only there to watch the game move on whilst they sit warming their seats at a cost. This country has always adopted the attitude of the man and the donkey, who after listening to the remarks from people without donkeys, ends up carrying the donkey to impress them.
Since 1998, one sees a state that has listened more to external intervention than being a country where neighbour can talk to neighbour to discuss matters that regard their picket fence borders. The sweet political lie is that Basotho are a peaceful people, I think the reality is that they are good at putting on masks that deceive the gullible. One does not have to go far to get the evidence on the true brutality of these ‘peaceful’ people that have not hesitated to mow each other down over matters of political affiliation and blanket colours. To move, one needs to be true to their breathing pattern, their heart rate, and most importantly, their feet.
Countless souls have been killed in the name of politics in this country, but still, the goon that gets the opportunity to speak to some international organisation/s has the audacity to declare, ‘all is well’. I often think that the problem with Africa is not in the people or the politicians; the problem lies in the fact that the average African leader of the present day is a product of the colonial system: and they are finding it hard to let go of the habits their colonial masters taught them.
Every part of Africa that has had a leader that in any way offended the neo-colonial lords of the modern times has had that leader killed. Lumumba, Biko, Sankara, Gaddafi, the list is long. These ones that survive only attain it because they still agree to shine some colonial leader’s knob at the expense of their country never moving forward in terms of real progress. Foreign aid is not a sign of progress…it is a sure symptom of continued dependency on the colonial lords of old (sort of like a 51-year-old ‘toddler’ that still has to beg for their nappy stipend). Maturity means that for a while, one will go so poor that even getting mere salt will prove impossibility, the African leader of the modern times does not agree with this view. Rather, the lavish lifestyles of Hollywood are envied, ignorant of the simple fact that most of these lifestyles are mere acts.
Moving forward does not require the delusional idealist that believes that they can dream everything into life. Movement is a real act that requires real effort from all the parties involved. There is just no fixing an entity as big as a country one-sidedly, that is, to come forward and to think that one can correct all the wrongs of the past without the involvement of all of those that were present when all that was done was done. Adopting the witch-hunt mentality has never worked, will never work, for at a certain point, even hardened criminals stop running and fight back as cornered dogs do.
I am sad that this land with potential will soon be lost simply because fools think violence solves problems when it does not. In actual fact, violence begets more violence, and what we dreamt of yesterday soon fades as the nightmare we created grows to leviathan proportions. The man that thinks they can sort things out using violence is similar in countenance to the fool that thinks they can kill the Hydra, well, the Hydra grows two heads in the place of each of the nine heads lost!
The battle cry of late is that information can be beaten out of suspects and what I think is the government will have more cases of police violence than they can deal with tomorrow. Monies that could be funnelled towards lasting economic and social development projects will be used in the compensation of those brutalised. To move, you have to think before you leap.
Tsepiso S Mothibi
The Dutch political system may not have been deliberately designed to produce middle-of-the-road outcomes, but it certainly works that way in practice: many small parties, multi-party coalitions to create a majority government, perpetual compromise. It is almost impossible to radicalise a system like this, but Geert Wilders is going to try.
Wilders is the founder and leader of the Freedom Party (PVV), which currently holds only twelve seats in the 150-seat Dutch parliament.
But he is aiming to make it the largest single party in the March 15 election — which, in ordinary times, would probably give it the leading role in the next coalition government.
But these are not normal times, and the PVV is far from a normal party. It really only has one policy — stop the immigrants — and it is unshamedly racist and anti-Muslim in its rhetoric. Wilders recently called Dutch residents of Moroccan origin “scum”.
He vows to close mosques and Islamic schools, ban the sale of the Koran, and stop all further immigrants or asylum seekers from Muslim countries.
He is the Dutch Donald Trump, a silver-maned provocateur who deploys the maximum possible nastiness in his campaign talk and his frequent abusive tweets.
In fact, some people argue that Trump must have taken lessons from Wilders, who has been working this side of the street for at least a decade already, but the concept of convergent evolution probably applies.
Populists are almost always racists too. Which brings us to the question that is most interesting for people who don’t live in the Netherlands.
Can racism and xenophobia alone, without any help from economic desperation, persuade a traditionally liberal Western electorate to cast its values aside and vote for an authoritarian bully with an anti-Muslim obsession?
Trump had lots of help from economic despair.
The key voters who gave him an electoral college victory last November were in the Rust Belt states: men (they were mostly men) who would usually have backed Democratic candidates, but switched to Trump because he promised to “bring back the jobs” and stop the non-white immigration.
There was certainly a large element of racial panic in the American vote.
A survey by Zack Beauchamp of the opinion polling and recent academic research on the topic, entitled “White Riot” and published on Vox on 20 January, documented the argument that “the real sources of the far-right’s appeal are anger over immigration and a toxic mix of racial and religious intolerance.”
On the other hand, the Rust Belt states south of the Great Lakes, the former industrial heartland of the United States, are the places that have suffered the greatest job losses over the past few decades, which is why cities like Cleveland and Detroit are decaying and partly abandoned.
And they are emphatically NOT major destinations for new immigrants to the US.
Trump himself always ensures that he hits on both immigration and job losses in his speeches and tweets, and he is the world’s expert on the fears and prejudices of his supporters.
Could we perhaps speculate that his supporters say that they are frightened about immigration and especially Muslim immigration, but that their racism is really driven in large part by their anger at the steep decline in the number of well-paid industrial jobs?
Of the six states with over a million immigrants — California, New York, Texas, Florida, Illinois and New Jersey — only Florida (where Trump won by a whisker) and Texas (which has voted Republican in every presidential election since 1980) voted for Trump.
California, whose ten million immigrants make up 27 percent of the state population, voted two-to-one for Hillary Clinton.
It would seem that, in the words of the old Phil Spector song, to know, know, know them is to love, love, love them (the immigrants), or at least not to fear them.
Whereas Michigan, a Rust-Belt state that voted Democratic in the previous six elections and where only 6 percent of the population are immigrants, voted for Trump.
You can see the same pattern in the Brexit vote in England last June.
The prosperous big cities are where the immigrants are, and every one of them except Birmingham voted Remain (in the European Union).
London, where half the school population is non-white, voted Remain by a 60-40 majority, as did Manchester, Liverpool and Bristol.
The narrow Leave majority countrywide was won in depressed northern industrial cities where immigrant populations are low, and in prosperous rural areas where there are virtually no immigrants at all.
So there was again racial panic at the changing ethnic face of England in areas where immigrants were largely absent, but especially in post-industrial areas where they are (wrongly) blamed for the loss of well-paying jobs.
In populist revolts elsewhere, the manifest racism and anti-immigrant sentiment that dominated in the opinion polls masked a deeper resentment about the loss of jobs.
In the Netherlands, where unemployment is only 5 percent, Geert Wilders is depending on racism alone, and he is not heading for a Brexit- or Trump-style victory.
The latest opinion poll gives him just 15 percent of the vote.
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