It occurred to me recently that us long-suffering whiteys get a raw deal. We pay for electricity, we file our tax on time, we ensure our over-inflated rates are paid accordingly and we never, NEVER, jump the line in a queue - and for all that we deserve a medal, or at the very least our own march (especially for never losing it in a queue when certain members of South African society stroll leisurely to the front, like they’re walking home through their own front door).
So let’s do it. To borrow a line - and completely mangle it - from David Bowie, the aptly nicknamed Thin White Duke, let’s march. Put on your red shoes and march the blues (white) people...
For some reason we’re not very good at this mass mobilisation thing. We don’t attend chest-thumping political rallies, we never congregate together on public holidays to litter profusely at political gatherings and we’ll be damned to take the time to publicly shower a politician with praise in the hope that he might drop a Breitling or two into the crowd.
In short, we don’t demand enough free shit. And that’s our single greatest failing as a race; we’re just too damn content to work hard and expect results from effort. What kind of a bone-headed strategy is that? No wonder we’re not marching through the streets demanding free trips to Mauritius, extra cheese on our pizzas and the like. We’re too busy working. Fools. The lot of us.
Stand up for whitey
When I read Khaya’s latest blacks versus whites column, I realised it was time that someone had to stand up for whitey. I’ll do it. I’ll organise the march. We’ll do a short loop of Constantia, head towards Tokai forest, and end at Peddlars for a pint. I’m reasonably fit, so as your march leader I promise to not get a lift in a minivan. Women, you are welcome too, so long as you don’t drive anywhere near us (I’m sure by now the majority of you have realised that last week was a wind-up...if not, shame on you).
And you know what? I’m not exclusive or segregationist. Coloured people and Indians of South Africa, you can come and march with whitey too. Bring your demands and we shall march to the doorstep of the richest looking white person with the biggest home, and inform them of the free stuff we want.
Join me. Join the White Peoples March to Show Black People That We Also Want To March For Stuff.
If you’re tired of standing in line at Woolies for longer than 10 minutes, join me. If you have to pay for electricity that is increasing rapidly because someone in charge failed to realise that the population would grow and we would need more power (admittedly, this could be a white person’s mistake, but what the hell), join me.
If you’re sick and tired of black people laughing at you when you try to dance at a nightclub, or you’ve just realised that they’re always better dressed at the office than you, join me. March with me!
It’s our time to take back the dance floor with our awkward white person dance (you know, where we shuffle from side to side, and dart our eyes around furtively to make sure no trendy black people are sniggering) and to stamp our sartorial stylings on office wear. Who cares if we look ridiculous in skinny jeans, cardigans and berets? Wear it. Wear it proudly, and show those well-dressed black people that we can be trendy too.
They may take our homes. They may pilfer our cheese. But they’ll never take our right to march too. We just need to get angry enough to do it...