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Radical Middle | 135<br />
protect the whites from the suffering which was their due.<br />
Blood had flowed in the townships; now it must flow in the<br />
suburbs to even things out. I mustn’t come with white man’s<br />
talk about systems and structures and boring technicalities;<br />
liberation must come and oppression must stop and I must just<br />
“take my government and go, go”.<br />
I grasped a lull to sneak a word in and said: “You know who<br />
you guys should blame for your oppression?” The predictable<br />
roar went out: “The whites!” I said “No, yourselves, and<br />
if this is the best you can offer you’ll be oppressed forever”.<br />
Pandemonium. Blood vessels popping like firecrackers at Guy<br />
fawkes.<br />
Twenty minutes later, proceedings over, there’s tea and<br />
biscuits and everybody’s moved out of political mode and back<br />
into normality. They’re swopping sorrowful tales about how<br />
so-and-so’s niece was raped and somebody else’s neighbour’s<br />
son was press-ganged and how badly the restoration of order<br />
is needed.<br />
There you have it, I tell Madikolo. That’s why people need<br />
power over their lives. Her, too – give her effective citizenship<br />
and she’ll be a force for stability like all those other mothers<br />
and aunts and fathers. Madikolo laughs. She wants change, she<br />
says, change, to the blazes with stability.<br />
That’s what she says but she’s fooling herself. When she<br />
can cast a ballot that matters she’ll cast a ballot for calm. She<br />
might rant over dinner tables but at the voting booth she’ll be<br />
thinking of peace. Or if she wants to play Warrior Queen, that’s<br />
fine. Just let her get Warrior Queendom past voters, that’s all.<br />
“Hey, remember chaos? The whites never had their time of<br />
chaos. Vote for me so we can put the suburbs in chaos.”<br />
I addressed Manas Buthelezi’s diocese, gentle men in dark<br />
suits, full to the brim with politeness and the Good Book. Half<br />
of them nodded off, wondering what my theorising had to do<br />
with the Word of the Lord, but they all woke up and clapped<br />
fit to burst at the end. That must be the ultimate black custom;<br />
make the guest feel good no matter what. Whereas among the