GREY MUTTER: These days, tragically, although the oppressive Apartheid regime may have been dismantled, our society is still badly broken, writes Lance Fredericks.
ADULTS, sigh … what a waste of space! That’s how I regarded them growing up. I mean honestly … When I was supposed to be a happy, carefree, uninhibited youngster, it was the adults who were the killjoys!
These older people were always oracles of doom. Climb a tree, and you’d hear about a boy that fell from a tree and cracked open his head. Pick up a knife to slice some polony, and be told how a woman stabbed her husband by accident when she turned around and he moved in to hug her. Go out with your friends and you’d hear the tale of the young man who was killed in a vehicle accident when his friends came to get him out of bed one night to go to a party.
And of course run along carefree and happy and there’d be that voice, that adult voice, that would call out through a window or from a stoep, “Be careful, you’re going to fall!”
We couldn’t have real fun because we were always being warned how we’d break our leg, neck or any one of our 200-odd bones. And this would happen just at that point when we were about to reach the peak of enjoyment – what spoilsports adults were!
Some of our teachers were infinitely worse. One glare from them would make us creep into our shells, especially if the teacher had a reputation.
However, there were those “Teddy bear” teachers; teachers who just made you feel warm and fuzzy. Back in Primary School, we had one such teacher. He was such a gentle soul that he rarely raised his voice in class. In fact, the worst exclamation we heard from his lips was: “Heavens Alive!”
One day, however, we witnessed our Teddy Bear teacher turn into a Grizzly when three boys, from the rough side of town and not even from our school, walked onto our school’s premises, and – when our principal called them over to find out what they were doing – they swore at him.
These boys were chased down, caught, and brought to ‘Mr. Teddy Bear’s’ class, where, with bloodshot eyes and bulging veins on his brow, he administered a thrashing the likes of which I had never seen before or since.
Needless to say, from that day forward, everyone wore halos in Mr Teddy Bear’s class.
I remind myself though that the fun-wrecking warnings from the adults and the frequent glares, scoldings, slaps and stripes from the grown-ups were not aimed at harming us.
On the contrary, these were – and for those who had been abused and assaulted, this may be hard to accept – expressions of concern from adults who wanted to, firstly, keep us safe, and secondly, shape us for a future society where we would be adults who were more responsible, more accountable and more caring.
Remember, all I have mentioned so far happened during Apartheid, when our community had little faith in the government and legal system. This is why our teachers, parents, sports coaches, and even the uncles and aunts in the streets felt responsible for shaping and moulding society into something better, something that opposed the harsh, tyrannical, and oppressive regime in power at the time.
These days, tragically, although the oppressive regime may have been dismantled, our society is still badly broken. Things are happening during this time that I cannot get my mind around.
For example, the story I recently read about a teacher who was shot dead in front of her pupils at a Primary School in KwaZulu-Natal. According to reports, the teacher was shot by two unknown men who gained entry to the premises under the pretence of searching for a lost school jersey. Instead, they opened fire on the educator in her Grade R classroom.
The report went on to say that even while she tried to run away, they continued shooting at her, killing her in front of her pupils … these “pupils” are four-year-olds!
Then on Sunday, I was in the CBD when a large motorcade was moving through the streets of the city, paying tribute to the victim of another senseless, vicious murder in our city. It broke my heart.
Look, I have also lost loved ones to accidents, illness and old age, and I can say from experience that it made my heart feel like it was a rubber balloon filled with gravel, being stretched to its limits and threatening to be ripped apart with the weight of sorrow.
What I am saying is that these alleged hitmen and the people who hire them have no idea – or maybe they do not care – about the pain, trauma and heartbreak they inflict not only on their victims but on the victim’s families, friends and their communities. And though people are resilient, we never really get over the tragic loss of loved ones.
And on top of this, killing someone out of hate, anger or passion is one thing. But killing a stranger, just for financial gain? That’s another thing entirely! It does not compute.
Then, while thinking about this column, just by chance, I happened to find a quote in an old notebook. The quote is by Rachel Joyce, and it goes: “I miss her all the time. I know in my head that she has gone. The only difference is that I am getting used to the pain. It’s like discovering a great hole in the ground. To begin with, you forget it’s there and keep falling in. After a while, it’s still there, but you learn to walk round it.”
I don’t know what our government or police services can do to eradicate this evil from our society. They are not in every community and in every home. But we do have adults; there are aunts and uncles, teachers and coaches who can – in a kind and thoughtful way – steer our misguided youth in a right direction, if we are prepared to lead by example.
And for those who I like to call Knee-Warriors, we can pray for our country.
