There is always someone with something to say about something that someone else is doing.

Negative feedback.

The redundant review.

I have a big mouth.

I’m trying to be conscientious about choosing my moments.

Context is consideration.

A stake is sincerity.

Simply adding to the no-end-of noise and the no-end-to nausea is just needless.

And needless is nasty.

I don’t mean humour or jovial-jeering. I mean the destructive, dysfunction of over-confident dorks who will always choose to sit rather than surmount.

Problems are plenty. Our political landscape is proof ~ and that’s just as a collective. So? What are you going to do about it? And if not for us, then at least for you? What are you going to do about those uniquely intimate problems on your path?

If you aren’t going to get up – shut up.

Dignity. Respect. Tolerance. These are only on loan to you while you market the moments that matter enough to have lifted a love within you – enough to commit to caring about any one- or many things – and so adding value.

Even if how you reverberate is in the conscientious choice to steer clear of the clash.

That’s still sincere.

That’s still something.

And something doesn’t just sit.


Bet | Part 2 



Part 1

© Dylan Balkind

An open boy letter to boy Australian Prime Minister man


One offers one’s sympathy.

No idea about the winters but – by God – you must have schvitzed like a mo-fo through those long summers in that barn you were raised in.

photo 1

No Gender December

The Greens senator Larissa Waters has launched an awareness campaign called No Gender December about the consequences of gender stereotypes (via toys) in the lead-up to Christmas.

Monsieur Abbot said: “I certainly don’t believe in that kind of political correctness. Let boys be boys, let girls be girls – that’s always been my philosophy.” He then took his eye of his joey long enough to further stump, and added: “You wonder why the Parliament is difficult when you have people like that with the balance of power in the Senate.”

Listen sausage, if you wanna know what a difficult Parliament looks like, have a squiz at this:

Me thinks Tony is just upset because Waters is really just proposing that people think for themselves which, if you know Australia or any Australians, is not something they can genuinely list as a strength. It is the ultimate nanny society; a setup that guarantees an eventual, completely brain-dead population who have had everything done for them – including their every decision, some made by the likes of this charmer: Tony Abbot.


Stupidity is its own punishment. You will inevitably come back around on that track you laid and sooner or later have to swallow what you spewed. It is the very realising of your own stupidity that results in – whether coward or cunning – a deft swapping of sides.

This is why Julius Malema is no longer shower-head‘s yapdog.

At University, this Abbot bloke studied Philosophy (among other subjects) and was awarded two Blues for his achievements as a heavyweight boxer. As a vocal student opposing the then dominant left wing student-leadership, he was once beaten up at a campus rally.


So, attended classes? Yes. Learned anything? No.

He is:

  • not a very good philosopher
  • not a very good boxer

#shame (#bless if you are non-Saffa)

As a butch, hunter-gatherer, God-fearing, hot-blooded male, I want to stand up, look Abbot in the eye with hand on my scarlet-sequinned heart and say I may have, just that one time, played with a My Little Pony toy. And as you can see… there’s zippo wrong with moi.

So to you and your theory uncle Ton’s, I say:

You are a stupid.


PS: Stagnation is, like, sooooooo 80s mate.

photo 2

“Consistency is contrary to nature, contrary to life.
The only completely consistent people are the dead.”
― Aldous Huxley

 © Dylan Balkind

39 million

39 Header

39 million people are gone.

Because of a virus our divisions have allowed to ascend.

If the Holy Bible is to be believed and 2014 is the number of AD years we’ve existed, we’ve had plenty more than that to learn just one thing: united we stand, divided we fall.

Through thickness and thin.

In sickness, and in health…

But we haven’t united, have we?

Holy Bible – or bland book of bullshit –  either way: we divide habitually and without fail.

We ridicule. We shun. We spit at. We turn our backs on… to the point that, that which takes aim to divide us – can win.

Like HIV.

So I wondered… what words this combative cultivator of cunctation would say if it could… It’s our selfish spite and stupidity that gives ‘it’ such a convincing case.

I am where fear is trumped in the search from love’s lost
I am where mortal humiliates the humiliated-already – them men who look like ghosts
There you go like ants before the queen, ordered to safeguard secrets…
– all your advances are flushed as expendable by your gathering greed’s digress

How there goes your distance with untouching, formidable feast?
Something your rioting righteousness won’t see as Mark of the Beast
You did it. You do it. You are it – at best
But blindly convinced of your stay deserving on God’s floating nest

You handwrote my invite and put me on your VIP list
Now that door is one you can’t close for that never-would-leave guest
I’ll wither. I’ll weaken. I’ve galloped in here on Trojan Horse
To humiliate the humiliated-already, them women who look like ghosts

Pharmaceutical. Untactical. Expendable. Digressed.
Incubated by fear within islands between love’s lost
It always was, has … and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously

Your Bible brought stories from around campfires at day’s rest
All you had to was listen to pass the soul’s Truth-North test
Compassion by connection is all you have left
But you’ve shunned it to gun it and bowed deep in greed’s feast

I’ve withered. I’ve weakened. Arrived welcome on Trojan Horse
I am the fears you discarded – I am the Mark of the Beast
Not something physical nor mineral that you can touch
But because you turned on each other, denying love from love’s lost…

Helen of Troy – I am not female nor boy
My gender grotesques through my dodging and ploy
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast 

It always was, has and always will be –
Those you call rebels who teach posthumously
You say idols are bad, goats interrupt goading piously
Your gadgets are 666 that underpin your Boxsciety

I’ve felt my backbone bend before I mix and contort
I’m running out of islands as you defend last resort
I too searched the darkness for compassionate companion
I found none in your nest, so here I am: your Armageddon

Your cavalier disconnection from your neighbours in the nest
Is what your mirrors – though full – have failed to reflect
I sirened as I weakened and withered your rebel-best
So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast

So cowards be left to live with me, I am Mark of the Beast




© Dylan Balkind



While I thought I had this military-mapped in my mind (currently being driven mad by the blunderous bandwidth), I receive a note from ‘my’ Nundi. She’s invited me to open something* I’ve never seen before, and when I do — Kismet! The first two words I see there are tantamount to what I was hoping to tangible (tangiDyl?) here…


Ecstacy is your birthright.

You do not have to earn your freedom.

Our history’s done its best to show us otherwise though… hasn’t it?

Ergo ~ ‘can blindly continued fear-induced regurtitated life-denying tradition be overcome?’

Intimately? Internationally?

To be okay with someone’s passive when I am aggressive ┉

To believe in the beauty of how it just is ┉





It’s hard though.

It’s hard work.

It’s heavy work.

The point — I think — is that there is no fail.

There is only the moment and then the moment is gone.

And that whatever we did or felt or said there — has its place in the boundlessness of (our) beauty — whether benevolent or beneath…

Before we break it down ┉

Before we beat our brows ┉

Before we bend ┉

Before we bulwark ┉

Before all this — we are just effortlessly cool.

Where confidence holds the door open for arrogance and ignorance…

And when, if we can’t be that then, it’s still a perfect day… and the superlative supreme never need be under rug swept.

Any of it.

There’s courage in finding yours. Fuck! There’s courage in just thinking about wanting to.

And — as this pretty smart guy I know once said: courage like that is catching.

Another pretty smart guy is Carlos Ruiz Zafón. He said: “Time goes faster the more hollow it is. Lives with no meaning go straight past you, like trains that don’t stop at your station.”

That’s effortlessly cool, don’t you think?


“If a train doesn’t stop at your station… then it’s not your train.”
— Marianne Williamson.

Here’s the second in the Alanis trilogy for 

Thank you to the effortlessly cool Catherine — my kinsperson.

Your creative-kindness is soul food.

I salute you for your house you’ve fully decorated in that sense.


© Dylan Balkind


Racist Advertising

Originally written for and published on BizCommunity.com.
For engagement details, click here

I was too young to remember what advertising was like in South Africa in the dark ages (Apartheid). I can only assume the emerging markets were all but disregarded (why go against what was happening in other socio-economic areas of life?) and were considered a non-event when it came to buying power.

Crazy that us elitist whites chose this route when you think about it, considering they still had to live, eat, wash, clothe themselves and travel around – albeit under much duress. So the world issued sanctions which in turn led to people learning about tolerance before imbibing a little sanctity and finally getting politically correct. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to stop since – getting politically correct that is. And God is it boring or what?

I saw the Caltrate TVC this week. This is a product that is supposed to help strengthen your bones and joints so that you can shimmy shake with the best of them and never stop, year after year after year. I was stumped at the storyline and wondered if the creative team and/or client had fallen and bumped their heads.

Let me tell you how the brief went (I wasn’t there, but ’ll have a shot at it anyway): “Create communication that attracts the black buying power to calcium supplements.” So they came up with a black lady and her elderly mom kickboxing.



Before I gave in to a blinding fury at the ridiculousness of this idea, I asked a few of my black friends how much time the matriarchs in their family allocated to kickboxing in a week. Much to the surprise of the Caltrate marketing team and whatever agency they entrusted with this script, the answer was a deafening ‘none’.


Now I am no doyenne of sport, but I am sure that even a little dipstick research would have come back with a handful of better ideas for a storyline that still worked to highlight the USP of the product for an audience they were hoping to bring into the net. This kind of arrogance in marketing and advertising has long overstayed its welcome in South Africa. People are not idiots and you are not doing your brand any favours at all by patronising one audience in front of another.

This example is simply the ridiculous positing of political-correct casting onto a script a white writer wrote. Market research should have taught them how to make calcium-enriching supplements appealing to black families with sport or activities that are relevant to them. It’s a shame when something has so blatantly been written for a black audience by a white creative team who did no more work than the bare minimum. If they were more committed to their craft, they would create relevant messaging that resonates with the target audience in the right spaces at the right time.

We are the only country who uses LSM profiling – because of the dexterous tapestry of our socio economic landscape – yet so few marketing exercises use this information for their gain. My reaction to ads like this one is not a realisation I have reached because I am racist. This is fury at the racist creatives who worked on the script and who assume that the audience will buy whatever they are selling because they cast black artists.

Wake up. Think more.

Hashtag epic brand fail.

© Dylan Balkind

89 Random Acts of Kindness

Two NFL players have ‘come out’ in support of the LGBT community. This doesn’t mean they’re learning the lyrics to I Will Survive nor that they’ve submitted their applications to drive the Pope’s little bulletproof Cinderella cart. It just means that they respect the humanity in you and I because each respects the humanity in himself.

Brendon Ayanbadejo and Chris Kluwe were born and raised in homes with parents who taught them to think for themselves, treat everybody fairly and defend their opinions with gusto. It’s a bitter-sweet celebration because this shouldn’t really make headline news – it shouldn’t have to. But until we live in some sort of tolerant Utopia, we will always need stories like this to protect the bashed and defend the brave.

To prove his unwavering support for equality, Brendon donated a pair of tickets to a gay marriage fundraiser, which made a fourth term Maryland Politician go all Mel Gibson on his efforts. The oh so honourable Emmet Burns sent a letter to Brendon’s team manager demanding that he “…take the necessary action … to inhibit such expressions from your employee,” before ending off his love letter by adding: “I know of no other NFL player who has done what Mr. Ayanbadejo is doing.”

I know of no other person that thinks fishing is sexy but that doesn’t mean this glorious pastime doesn’t exist. Ergo, this unwitting Emmet is the same guy who got into a fight with a tow truck driver in 1999. Now I’m not down with the sub culture of tow truck drivers in the US, but let’s just say that here in South Africa, anyone who picks a fight with a tow truck driver is just stupid. So is anyone who names their child Emmet. So, perhaps it’s not all his fault that he grew up to be a complete boil.

But fret not for Emmet. I think I’ve found him someone to hold hands with on the straights-only playground. This talented tulip posed stoically in the lush forest of loserville, dressed in her hardcore K-mart tee and delivered her best Eminem impression.

She and “author” E.L. James should hang out together and fall into an open manhole. They’re as progressive as our very own fearless leader, the turtle, who said this week that we “…should not lose faith in our own humanity and collective ability to correct the wrongs we see in our country.” I think he’s onto something there. The murder, rape and hijacking statistics sure prove it.

So with cupcakes like these, it’s an absolute pleasure to hear good news stories about people committed to doing and being good examples. Samantha Manns is an 18 year old Ohio teen who since the passing of her 89 year old grandmother, is committed to honouring her memory by performing 89 Random Acts of Kindness. Her first was to pay the bill for the car behind hers in a drive through.

They cried.

Times are hard.

Who knows what their story is or what happened in their day before they got into that queue for food.

We need more random acts of kindness, South Africa. Could you think about yours – maybe even doing just one a week? It makes what Emmet and that poetic poepol fill their days with look like an absolute waste of time to me.


© Dylan Balkind

The gays made Oscar do it!

Western Cape Pastor Oscar Bougardt has singlehandedly solved the work of Desmond Nair, Gerrie Nel, Hilton Botha and anyone else concerned with Oscar Pistorius’ motives. It was the gays who made him do it. I for one can’t be blamed because on the night in question (and early into the next morning), I was polishing a 100kg golden penis I have on my front porch.

Wasn’t me. But, granted, it could have been any one of the other guys gays. If Pastor Bougardt says it is so, it has gotsta be true. Mambaonline reports that Bougardt said: “Oscar was one of those sports stars who supported the filthy lifestyle of homosexuals.” Before we go any further, let me also just inform you that Mambaonline themselves were behind the flood that killed 142 000 in East Asia in 1935, the drought of 1984 that killed 150 000 people in the Sudan, and me. I have officially been listed as one of the greatest disasters of our time.

I am going straight to hell. We know this is true because Bougardt has said that “…any person who supports homosexuals are doomed for hell.” This is hectic because no one can be sure how much time we really have and red just doesn’t look good with my complexion. Which leaves me at yet another crossroads. Here’s the thing: I used to think that any tepid small-mind who based their homophobia on the oldest book ever written, and thought it to somehow be a true reflection of any sense of the divinity that brought us here, could kiss my ruby red Judy Garland slippers. But… this Bougardt chap seems so legit. Just look at this picture of him:


They say he has sent provocative emails to a string of gay activist groups. I like the word ‘provocative’. Physically it makes me think of Zac Efron. Cerebrally it makes me think of Madonna, Joan of Arc, Michelle Obama, Edith Piaff, Bette Midler, Helen Zille or Margaret Thatcher – to name just a few. Women who think and women who have never become victims of– or defined by stereotypes that are as old as the ground we stand upon. A great example to homosexuals everywhere, who are here to stay daaahlings. And if anyone who thinks beyond Bougardt’s little book is going to hell too, so be it. He can go spit the dummy by himself in some quiet, gay-free corner of the Universe. Fuck him.


© Dylan Balkind

An ingrown life

When last were your feelings hurt by someone that wouldn’t normally consider you, but who then went out of his or her way to say something awful and uncalled for, just to make you feel bad about yourself? Years ago? Recently? It’s always surprising to me how often it happens and how ready the human race is to take down one of their own.

We are a nasty lot, aren’t we?

I like to tease. I like to say things that provoke mirth because they tug at stereotypes and state the obvious. People giggle, enjoy the forum and even throw back some of their own banter. This is a dialogue I believe to be very necessary between friends of different backgrounds in a claustrophobic South Africa. Isn’t it a fine time to laugh at ourselves? It’s harmless… but… there is always a darker side. For example, I would never stand on the side of the street and yell faggot, nigger, moffie, kaffir, cunt, fatso, kike, fudge-packer, douchebag, spic or slut bucket to an absolute stranger walking the other way, yet, I can personally assure you, there are many who are of the opinion that this behaviour is perfectly acceptable.

Harassment, bullying, slander or defamation of character – call it what you want. The problem with this legalese is that it doesn’t resonate where this behaviour begins: among pre-teen insolents who haven’t been taught any better by the people who took responsibility for shaping their lives. Victims are taught little rhymes about sticks and stones but with no real help or a true behaviour-change, they grow lonelier in the darkness of isolation.

I have my own story. One that is unique to me but just like a million others all over the world.

I wasn’t the only one who grew up this way.

There are many who seek some form of therapy to “just get over it”.

This is such a personal journey that people take, seeking their own ways of finding the light. It is an outpouring of your feelings into something constructive for you that sets the wheels of healing in motion. Catharsis isn’t on a schedule but when it arrives, it is a lightening-bolt force of nature. The dialogue you have in this process is with yourself. You are the crier, the listener, the sad and the psychologist. You are the hurt and the discipline, the broken-hearted and the healing.

When you take seven minutes to watch the video below, may you see the most profound art created from such hollow-hurting that I have ever seen.

If you cry, I hope it helped. If you don’t understand it, I hope that one day you will.

Read the full poem here.

© Dylan Balkind

SAB Anti-Rape Billboard

So… there’s so much (informed and uninformed) opinionaters on Rape in South Africa – and ways in which these conversations come alive among your (anti) social networks. One fellow thought he would weigh-in on the Rape-rant by voicing his disapproval of the South African Breweries (SAB) Corporate Social Responsibility billboard that pushes all the right buttons for underage drinking, women abuse and rape.

Screen shot 2013-02-19 at 11.40.44 AM

“Hey SAB! Were you OUT OF YOUR MIND putting up a billboard intimating that girls who get drunk are somehow choosing to get raped? Last time I checked, it was the RAPIST doing the deciding. In one fell swoop, you’ve managed to uphold rape culture AND lay the blame on women. Do you have any idea what kind of message this sends out to the countless women who’ve had to endure what you’re calling a ‘decision’? Congratulations. I wish I could simply call you imbeciles and be done with it, but that’s too innocent a word for what you are.”

I picture him in his skinny jeans, non-prescription specs and a plaid shirt with some or other morning’s Pronutro crusting on a buttonhole. He likes what he sees in the mirror and fancies himself quite the intellect. Before we go any further – to safeguard his potential embarrassment while allowing him his democratic right to continue on in his blinkered state – I will from this point onward refer to (beep) as Mr. Igno Rant.

Mr. Rant has gotten way too carried away with his very own self-congratulatory effort to cause a commotion. As an Advertising geek who has had a look at the Brand and Social Responsibility message by SAB, I suggest you consider this:


a)     is not diverting the blame from these bastards who take matters into their own hands
b)     is highlighting the already-ablaze epidemic of rape in this country, and
c)     is admitting – from a CSI vantage point – that alcohol may play a role in contributing to victims.

Alcohol doesn’t for one moment give men an easy-out excuse for rape, citing for example that the victim was drunk and therefore to blame. It simply highlights the obvious: when inebriated, women may not have their wits at hand – something that these loser predators undoubtedly count on. Furthermore, Rant has neglected to appreciate the message for underage drinking and the perps that do nothing about it but fill their cash registers. Let those who sell alcohol to minors see this billboard too, find their conscience and stop contributing to the problem.

You may raise an eyebrow at my silly-man-bashing and accuse me of what I myself deplore so vehemently: bullying. No. I am not being a bully. I am disturbed and horrified that those who choose to make a noise about something they have given absolutely no thought to still have the dangerous power through the viral message in social media to incite enough other non-thinkers to make a noise and flap to that side of the fence.

Let me be clear: there is never a bad time to talk about Rape.

Also, I speak from my heart and soul when I say that a man who can’t comb his hair in the morning shouldn’t be taken too seriously – but rather that it is the lack of response of a nation to an issue that should have mobilised us years ago… now that’s what I really care about. Still, Ignor has meticulously highlighted the issue that people would rather suck their teeth and shake their empty heads in disgust at, because of the distaste of a brand to bring such attention to a very real problem. Truth is Ignor, this is an industry that has the potential to shine a very bright light on an issue that our useless government is far too quiet about, every single day. Don’t you think that that’s something you should embrace?

I congratulate SAB and the creatives at their agency who have shown that, in South Africa, a pair of balls can still be used for good.


© Dylan Balkind

I know a rape victim

I know a rape victim. On a day that started as any other did, it turned when a group of men exerted themselves on her tiny frame and changed her life forever. Psychologically, emotionally and socially… she will never be able to access the woman she was before. I know another rape victim. On a day that started as any other did, it changed when he was led home from a gay bar under false pretences and raped by three homophobic straight men who changed his life forever. Psychologically, emotionally and socially… he will never be able to access the man he was before.

I know a rape victim.

Because of someone else’s imbalanced reality, these lives will never, ever be the same again. No matter how much patchwork is done on the outside to reinforce a semblance of self-esteem, the psychological repercussions will travel with them forever, wherever they go. One day, when love arrives and their heart hopes to be happy again, the mechanics of how those souls plan to live out that love will draw them back into the trenches of their own uninvited war.

I know a rape victim.

No one is safe, anywhere. The school set up by media mogul Oprah Winfrey was host to violence against women and children charges. A prominent writer for the Mail & Guardian, the Washington Post and the BBC was herself a victim of this endemic epidemic. A national cricket player has been accused of rape. Our President has been accused of rape. Both had their charges dropped in overturned cases. Corruption-related or not, consider this: South Africa has lost an estimated R650-billion to corruption over the last 18 years. Think about the positive effect of the power behind that money had it been used for legal repercussions and enforcement that contributed to a safer, kinder South Africa for all. There are 29 different crime categories used by the SAPS for reporting crime stats. So? What difference does it make when the whole system is so out of control that the statistics these departments are using to reclaim their budget allocations are bullshit anyway?

“Crime expands according to our willingness to put up with it.”
– Farber, Barry J.

There is much support, in theory. People take to social media to join fan pages, “like” statements, pledge their concerns by joining groups – but then what? Pierre de Vos expanded on this when he pledged not to get involved in the slew of online noise about the issue (and in doing so, he did). In his article ‘Why I won’t join the chorus of voices protesting against rape’ – he makes the point that:

“…pledges by men that they oppose rape and respect women run the risk of once again turning women into helpless and vulnerable victims in need of the protection of men, thus reinforcing the gender hierarchy that lies at the root of violence against women.”

These ‘helpless victims’ are a very real populous of faces behind the staggering statistics and heartache, and yes, while the viewpoint of de Vos is to highlight the issue of our inter-gender relationships, he does nothing to highlight the legal and moral repercussions against these monsters among men. Well… that’s because there aren’t any.

No one is safe, anywhere.

I am a man. I am a South African. I live here. I hear the news. And then I meet these victims, because you will. The basic math means you will. The Bill of Rights in the Constitution of South Africa sets to ensure the rights of all South Africans. It has failed us. These rights have become unhinged and still, there is not enough noise across our nation about those being trusted, counted on and paid to make this a reality for the citizens of our country. Why?

No one is safe, anywhere.

I know a rape victim.

You know a rape victim.

Men rape women. Men rape babies. Men rape lesbians. Men rape men. No matter who you are and where you live, if you are a South African citizen, you are on the brink of sexual slavery.

Yes, you.

We all know rape victims.

What are we saying when we don’t say anything at all?


Need help? Want to help? Get started. 

Women Against Violence Against Women

Step 1 Foundation

Catherine’s Inspiration for Kids

Walk a Mile in Her Shoes

One Billion Rising

Crime Statistics South Africa


© Dylan Balkind

Why Oscar is still better than Zuma

What a week it’s been. The Pope has given up all that free drag because he is tired. A meteor shower hit Russia and injured 900 people, our turtle President said some more bullshit about the things he sort of plans to do in the coming year… but no one listened to that rambling because a national hero shot and killed his girlfriend through a bathroom door at 4am on Valentines day.

I’m left with such a hollow, slack-jawed feeling. Not about the Pope or any of the other stuff but Oscar Pistorius specifically. It’s just such a tragedy of epic proportions and I think we all feel it’s okay to have an opinion about it because these super humans who represent us on a global platform become public property, right? Whether that sense of entitlement is appropriately due to us or not is a whole different story. Still, the nation is gripped by this ambitious character flaw that has revealed a dark side to a man that seemed so brilliant in every other way possible.

I started a gas on my Facebook page when I remarked on the irony that the two men in the news all day were Oscar Pistorius and Jacob Zuma, and that despite whatever really went down at Oscar’s house that morning, he is still ten times the man Jacob Zuma will ever be. Naturally, this shocked many and they made it known that they felt I was wrong because any man who raises a hand to a woman should not be put on any sort of pedestal. Agreed. But in the context of my statement? Not so much.

My angle is that Oscar has given boys and girls hope and taught them that anyone can achieve what they work hard for. Zuma has taught people that you don’t have to work hard, show integrity or live up to your position as a public figure to deliver for anyone. I do not condone violence – I have been the victim of it myself – but if the ideals that each man stands for earned them a roster of points, there would be one clear winner.

Jacob Zuma has had more than 750 corruption charges against him. Still your hero? He also clearly has a well-functioning penis – represented by the 18 children he has spawned. Most men and women the globe over have a moral awakening when they have kids, to want to leave the earth in a better state for the sake of the young. Not Jacob Zuma. He knows full well the facts of strife around education, poverty and HIV in South Africa and yet thinks it’s a good idea to go and build himself a R250million home. What’s wrong with a R50million home? God, what’s wrong with a R2million home? In between planning all of that and not to be outdone by Tiger Woods, we know his penis got busy a 19th time when he raped a woman in his home. He got off those charges like he did the ones about the arms deal and his cahoots with Shabir Shaik. And now? Is he still your hero now? If you’re nodding, I’m genuinely surprised you could read this far.

Furthermore, as a flaming homosexual, I also find it diabolical that the man who got elected through a democratic process describes same sex marriages as a disgrace to the nation and to God, and said that when he was growing up, any gay person that stood in front of him would have been knocked out. Stellar. This is the man that runs our country every single day – albeit badly – but people get all self righteous about a sportsman they watch half a dozen times a year.

I’ll say it again; I do not condone violence in any form. No one has the right or the emotional capacity to take someone else’s life. Violence against anyone is never the answer – women, men, gays or straights. We have an overwhelming epidemic of rape in this country that is more out of hand than anything we have ever faced before. Yes, anything! There is so much hate, everywhere, yet we expend our energy with uninformed opinions about a sporting legend that allegedly murdered his girlfriend.

Grow up South Africa.

Where are your opinions about all the other murders that occur in this country daily?

If only people would have as much to say about the absolute state of our nation because of who is running it… Well, what a fine place this beautiful country would be.


© Dylan Balkind

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