I Remember Self–Censorship in Apartheid South Africa

I remember being told not to repeat to other kids what I heard my parents say about the government. I remember my parents ordering me to rewrite my letters to relatives and to remove anything that wasn’t purely personal because they were sure, probably with justification, that our letters were being read by the government. I was a child and I was parroting my parents’ political opinions, but I had yet to learn what they already knew: that in a police state, one can speak one’s mind inside the home but not outside it and not to strangers, nor write it in letters.

In Nazi Germany, the Heil Hitler salute was officially termed “the German greeting.” The bitter joke among Germans was the real German greeting was the cautious swiveling of the head to side to side to make sure no one was listening before speaking frankly to a friend. I remember listening to my father and a neighbor he didn’t yet know as they engaged in a verbal dance, a careful sounding out, moving from neutral subjects to ever more political ones, gauging each other’s true politics before they both began criticizing the government. That was the South African greeting.

And now I’m seeing the same thing here in America. It’s not new, of course. There was plenty of violent retribution for unpopular speech/behavior/political positions during Colonial times. During the Revolution, Loyalists were harassed, chased from their homes, even murdered. Abolitionists were murdered in the antebellum South, and the same has happened to civil rights proponents into modern times. Then there were the Red Scare, the McMartin Preschool/Satanic ritual abuse hysteria, and so on.

Perhaps the current evil will die out, as most of the above did. But look at the destruction that those evils caused before they vanished. Surely Trump can’t last much longer, and I hope that he won’t be followed by another figure with the same insane appeal to the worst among us. But we can’t be sure of that, can we? Such “leaders” keep popping up. Even if Trumpism ends with Trump, the damage he has done will take a long time to repair, if it can be repaired.

In the meantime, our media and social platforms, increasingly owned by plutocrats who deem it in their interest to support Trump, are shifting rapidly to the right. The result isn’t censorship in the strict sense because it’s not being done by the government. Instead, it’s a pervasive and powerful form of self–censorship.

The end result is what I saw as a boy in Apartheid South Africa: a silence born of fear.

The Writer and His Novel—a Troubled Marriage

Forty or more years ago, I tried to write a short autobiographical novel stemming from what was then a fairly recent episode in my life. I didn't get far with the book, partly because I didn't have the hang of writing mainstream fiction and partly because writing about something that was still raw turned out to be far more emotionally difficult than I had expected. (I had thought that writing the story would be therapeutic. It wasn't.) It also didn't feel like a novel—more like a fictionalized diary entry.

I put it aside and went back to genre fiction. Plot–driven fiction was much easier. But I kept coming back to that autobiographical novel, and also fiddling with some other autobiographical fiction. At some point, I merged all the autobiographical stuff together, and the result was something very novel like but also very incomplete and uneven—different parts that didn't go together well. Dropped it again. Came back to it later. Rinse and repeat.

With each cycle, the novel got bigger and better but still very emotionally stressful to work on. Also with each cycle, the plot extended more into the past and the future, and the book spread sideways in the sense of adding more secondary characters and subplots. The calendar had caught up with the book’s timeline, so that the parts that had originally been set in the near future were now set in the recent past. Oops. The near future I had envisioned hadn’t happened, requiring plot revisions. On and on it went.

I kept putting the novel, now called Chains, aside in favor of plot-driven novels I could actually finish in a reasonable amount of time. But I always felt guilty, and increasingly silly and annoyed with myself. Chains kept poking at me.

When I started Chains, I was in early middle age or late whatever comes right before middle age. Now I'm into old age, and I feel really silly that I haven't finished the book. Each year, I've told myself that I'd have it done by my birthday, or at least by the end of the year. Each year, I failed to do that.

On the bright side, Chains has become not only much bigger than I originally intended but also much more serious, deeper, and layered than it was at the start. Or so it seems to me, anyway.

My birthday was last week, and Chains wasn’t done by then. It probably won't be done by the end of this year, either, but after working at the book more steadily this year than I have in a long time, I'm finally hopeful that it will at least be a real first draft by the end of the year. It has reached the point that it reads like a novel, albeit with gaps and inconsistencies, instead of like of a collection of stuff that doesn't fit together.

That was anticlimactic, wasn't it? Perhaps I shouldn't have posted anything until I had a finalish first draft. But I didn't want to wait.

At this point, the ms. is over 230,000 words. It could end up around 250-260,000 words. That's more than twice as long as anything I've written before. It will quite literally be my magnum opus.

I used the phrase “troubled marriage” in the title of this piece because it occurred to me today that my relationship with Chains has some similarity to a troubled marriage. Sometimes I’ve felt that the book is unrewarding drudgery, and at those times I’ve thought about giving up on it and starting anew, looking for that magical new book/relationship that I imagine would fulfill all my needs. Sometimes, two spouses/partners can’t stand to look at each other, to hear each other’s voices, or even to be in the same house. The arguments can be awful. Their eyes may wander, noticing others. They wonder if those others would be better matches, or at least more exciting ones. But then there are the deliriously wonderful reconciliations! They tell themselves that all is well after all. We can do this! We can make it! Until the next falling out, and the cycle repeats. That’s me and Chains.

All right, old book/girl. Give me a hug and a kiss, and let’s try again, eh? Of course, once you’re finally published, then you’re old news and my eye will be wandering again.

Law and Order, Waste and Fraud, Close the Border, and Lose Your Rights

For quite a long time, we heard “Law and Order” as the GOP/right wing/plutocratic war cry. My memory is that it started with Nixon, or at least was first repeated loudly and often by him and his lackeys. Whenever it started, it was code for “Those people are getting uppity. We’ll terrorize them into submission while at the same time ensuring that anyone who might otherwise sympathize with those people will instead acquiesce because of fear of the uppitiness.”

Nowadays, the war cry is “Waste and Fraud.” That’s a dog whistle for “The non-rich are getting too big a slice of the pie, which rightfully belongs entirely to us, so we’ll destroy programs that help them and suck up the resulting extra revenue for ourselves, but we’ll pretend that we’re just eliminating fraud and waste because we have successfully brainwashed the rubes into thinking that all government programs are full of fraud and waste, so they’ll support us.”

Meanwhile, “Close the Border” has been around forever in one form or another. Of course it’s just a flavor of xenophobia. “Those strange people are destroying our beautiful, sacred, pure culture with their weird music/food/religion/customs and seducing our young from the straight path and polluting our perfect bloodstream.” It’s a handy way to whip up fear and get votes, and it’s popular among politicians all over the world.

But I see something more happening in America. In the longer term, the “Close the Border” cry habituates the population to the existence of a police state. Americans have passively accepted the shocking establishment of a 100-mile wide Constitution-free zone along the border—which means around the edges of the 48 contiguous states and Alaska. Under the grotesque Trump administration, that Constitution-free zone now in effect includes anywhere that the government’s masked brownshirt thugs, a.k.a. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, happen to be. The zone won’t long be limited to wherever ICE is present; other agencies will soon be included.

The recent quick and violent expansion of the Constitution-free zone beyond the border sparked protests, which in turn sparked talk of harsh countermeasures. The protests will subside with time or be violently quashed. Perhaps the thugocracy will realize it went too far, too fast and will back off for a short time. Then it will expand the Constitution-free zone again, but a bit more slowly and less conspicuously. The end goal remains the same, though: a Constitution-free America.

It’s Classical Music Is What It Is

When I was a kid in South Africa, my parents always had the radio tuned to SABC, the South African Broadcasting Company, the English–language government radio station. (There was also an Afrikaans equivalent, SAUK, but my parents spent their years in South Africa acting as though those people didn’t exist, so we never listened to that station.)

SABC had news—controlled and limited, because this was during Apartheid—music, and old radio serials from the UK and the US. A couple of those serials were science fiction, which I loved. Others were mysteries and spy dramas, which we often listened to together. Some of the music was popular music, but as I remember it, for a large part of the day, the station played classical music.

For the most part, the kind of classical music was what is often called “light classical music” or just “light music.” Here’s the definition from Wikipedia: “Light music is a less–serious form of Western classical music, which originated in the 18th and 19th centuries and continues today. Its heyday was in the mid–20th century. [These are] ... usually shorter orchestral pieces and suites designed to appeal to a wider context and audience than more sophisticated forms such as the concerto, the symphony and the opera.”

Note this phrase used in the definition: “form of Western classical music.” You’ll see why that’s important.

I loved that music. I was as entranced by it as I was by the science–fiction radio serials. I can’t say which of those two, the music or the serials, carried me away more completely to a more wonderful and beautiful universe. The only competition was the supply of adventure/escape fiction from the local library. If I could have spent all of my time reading those novels while listening to those radio serials and classical music, I would have been in heaven.

When I was in my teens, we moved to the US. It was a difficult adjustment. That was in 1957, and 68 years later, at this writing, I still haven’t adjusted fully. But what I did have that was unchanged was adventure/escape fiction and music. By then, “music” meant to me both classical music and the exciting new music, Rock and Roll. I alternated happily between the two genres.

When I could manage it, I bought records. Not R&R, though: classical. It was still mostly light classical. It was what I knew and loved. I would play something classical from the 19th century on the record player, and I would close my eyes and be carried away by the beautiful melodies to another and better place.

The time came for me to escape from my parents’ home and go to college—Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. There I met Leonore; we recently celebrated our 57th anniversary. But that’s another story (and a very happy one). Long before Leonore and I met, I made friends with a fair number of music students.

I don’t know how it ranks now, but back then, IU had one of the world’s great music schools, and one of the biggest. There were a lot of music students on the campus. They came from all over the country and world. They didn’t get into that school unless they were already very good and accomplished.

I was a math/physics/astronomy major, but almost all of my friends were in other fields, mostly the arts, and of those, most were in music. One of the first questions my new musician acquaintances asked me was what kind of music I liked.

“Classical,” I said.

They were delighted. It was not the response they had expected. They reeled off the names of a number of composers of long ago, a very few of which I recognized, and asked which ones I preferred.

“None of those,” I said. “Tchaikovsky. Rimsky–Korsakov.” I named a few others whose music I loved.

“Oh,” they said, disappointed and disapproving. “You mean Romantic music.”

“Romantic” was not a word I associated with music. Nor did I understand the sneer in their voices. So they told me about the various periods into which music is divided and listed prominent composers in each (most particularly J. S. Bach, who was a god to the I.U. music school in those days), and they explained to me that music of the Romantic Period was the least of all of them and should be shunned by all right–thinking people.

(Somewhat later, I would be told by a music student that he particularly hated Tchaikovsky because T’s music is so hard to play. He reacted badly when I told him that I thought that said more about the performer than the composer.)

I must give those music kids credit. They introduced me to new worlds of music, Bach included, that I grew to like a great deal. But never as much as I love Romantic music, which I still consider the greatest music of all.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. Instead, let’s discuss nomenclature.

Those music students objected to my referring to the entire category of music as classical music. They insisted that Classical must only be used to refer to one period of such music, the period roughly between 1750 and 1820. I don’t remember if they had a term for the entire musical genre, something they used the way I used “classical.”

In the decades since those days, I’ve encountered that particular musical pomposity a few times from musicians. There was even a commercial classical music station in Denver years ago—KVOD, of beloved memory—that switched to calling itself a “concert music” station instead of a classical music station, the on–air explanation for which change was a lecture that could have come from the mouths of those music–student friends of mine of long ago. Listener objections were loud enough that KVOD dropped that silliness and went back to calling itself what it was, a classical music station.

The next paragraph might strike you as an odd digression. It isn’t.

As a math geek, I learned, possibly in high school, the special way mathematicians use the words “series” and “sequel.” In ordinary English, it’s common to speak of a series of events. But from the viewpoint of mathematics, that’s wrong, wrong, wrong! You can’t say that! Never mind the formal definitions. In simple terms, a sequel looks like this: 1, 8, 13, 95, 2, ... (The “...” means “It goes on and on that way forever or at least until the sun goes nova and incinerates all the mathematicians.”) By contrast, a series looks like this: 1+8+13+95+2+... So “a series of events” means that somehow the events are added together, which makes no sense. But “a sequence of events” makes perfect sense.

So, from now on, don’t you ever let me hear you refer to a series of events. You are only allowed to say “a sequence of events.” Right? You’ll obey me on that, won’t you?

No, of course you won’t. You will completely ignore my beautiful mathematical examples above and go right on using “series” incorrectly, won’t you?

Of course you will. And so you should.

Mathematicians have good reasons for defining terms such as “series” and “sequence” precisely.  Precision, conciseness, and clear communication are essential when mathematicians or musicians or bricklayers or accountants or ...  are talking within the confines of their specialty. And why not use some ordinary words from ordinary English for the purpose? They own those specially defined words and phrases within the confines of their specialty. But they don’t own any words or phrases outside it.

The English language belongs to everyone who speaks it, not just to mathematicians or musicians, etc. A math student who uses “series” or “sequel” incorrectly should expect to be upbraided. A mathematician who tries to dictate how non–mathematicians use those words should expect to be laughed at.

Mathematicians don’t own the language, and they don’t even own mathematics. It belongs to all of us. So does music. So does the term “classical music” as it is used by everyone who isn’t a musician—and, I’m pretty sure, by many, perhaps most, musicians in casual conversation.

All over the world, there are radio stations with “classic” or “classical” in their names, stations that play music ranging from Medieval to Romantic, and even unfortunately that 20th–century stuff. Classical music, in other words.

Try it yourself. Google “classical music radio stations” and see how many hits you get. You’ll get a huge list of such stations—a stupendously long series of them.

Mike Johnson dismisses angry citizens at town halls as "paid protestors"

 

All X Are Yish

"All elements of set X have property Y."

"But a is an element of X and doesn't have property Y."

"Yes, a is an exception."

"And b is an element of X and doesn't have property Y."

"Yes, yes, b is also an exception."

"And c ..."

Etc. many times.

But then finally:

"Ah hah! Epsilon! Epsilon is an element of X and most definitely and obviously and unpleasantly has property Y!"

"So you're saying that epsilon is an excep--"

Triumphantly: "Epsilon proves what I've been saying all along! All elements of set X have property Y!"

Elon Musk Is an American

 Elon Musk is an infected cyst in the American soul, but he’s an American cyst.

He is an evil, psychopathic, narcissistic, greedy oaf, but he is an American oaf.

He is a posturing and deeply insecure fool who spent a fortune on cosmetic surgery to change his appearance from twerpy nebbish to creepy ogre that he apparently thinks makes him look more masculine and who wears lifts in his shoes for the same reason, but he’s an American fool.

He’s a drug-addled, pompous zany, but he’s an American zany.

He’s a louse who fathers children and then doesn’t provide for them, but he’s an American louse.

He’s a man without honor, but he’s a dishonorable American.

He’s a Nazi, but he’s an American Nazi.

He is the evil embodiment of the worst of capitalism, but he’s an American evil embodiment.

He is the lowest of the low, human vileness embodied, slime from the deepest levels of the sewer, but he’s American slime.

Throughout its history, America has produced its full share of such foul men, and most of them were born here.

Here is the beginning of the US naturalization oath, the oath of citizenship, which Musk swore when he became an American citizen in 2002: “I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen…” He was a Canadian citizen and a South African citizen, and I assume that in the eyes of those two countries, he retains those citizenships, but under American law, he is no longer a citizen of either of those countries but is instead an American citizen.

Now, the stories about his violating the terms of his US visa could well be true, and in that case, his citizenship should be revoked and he should be expelled from the US. We know that’s not going to happen while the malevolent orange toad squats in the White House—and given Musk’s ability and willingness to use his immense wealth both to reward and to threaten, probably even not after the toad is gone. It should happen, but it won’t. But even if it does happen eventually, until then Elon Musk is a US citizen. He is an American.

Musk is contemptible because of who he is and what he’s done, not because of his foreign birth. He is a contemptible American, just like his … friend? crony? boss? servant? … President Slime and the many, many contemptible Americans making up the Slime Administration.

I was prompted to write this essay because of posts I’ve seen on various social media platforms attacking Musk as a foreigner, a South African, an Afrikaner. These posts have come from people on the political left. It’s no surprise that the left despises Musk, but expressing that feeling in terms of Musk’s foreign origins is no different from the right’s hating the foreign origin of, say, George Soros. It is othering the foreigner, and it’s despicable. As a former South African citizen who swore the same US naturalization oath as Musk did, I’m outraged by this rejection by my fellow leftists, this smirking relegation of naturalized citizens like me to a separate and inferior status and by the hatred directed at white South Africans.

The left uses “white South African” as the embodiment of evil in general and racism in particular. I’ve seen things said online about white South Africans by leftists who would never tolerate similar things being said about other racial/national/ethnic groups. And yet, in 1992, more than two-thirds of white South Africans voted to end Apartheid and transition to full democracy. Compare that to the almost half of Americans who voted in 2024 to make a demented, crooked, openly anti-democratic traitor America’s president.

(By the way, Musk was not an Afrikaner, and “Afrikaner” is not a synonym for “white South African.” He was an English South African. “Was”? Yes, because he’s now an American.)

Is Musk a prime mover behind the current administration’s tsunami of evil or merely a tool? Who can say? I suspect he’s a tool, and I also expect that the weird bromance between Musk and President Toad will end soon and abruptly.

The toad can’t stand not being the center of attention, and even his awe of Musk’s vast wealth might be less powerful than his resentment at being upstaged. Or Musk’s wealth could vanish quickly. His wealth is a house of cards built largely on the stock value of Tesla. That stock value is already dropping and will probably drop far more because of increased competition, poor Tesla EV quality, and the buying public’s growing hatred of Musk. When the wealth departs, it will take with it Trump’s weird fascination with conman Elon, and Musk will be shoved out and quickly forgotten.

If Trump dies in office—extremely likely—then the behind-the-scenes power struggle will be as vicious, if less bloody, as those of ancient Rome or the USSR. J D Vance will be the nominal president, but who can say who will be the real power in the White House? It won’t be Musk. He’s hitched his star too tightly to Trump’s wagon and will go down with it.

The power struggle seems to be already under way. Musk’s departure could have happened by the time you read this. His place will be taken by some equally morally repulsive slime, probably a native-born one. The rest of the scum will simply continue to genuflect at the base of the toadstool.

Or perhaps, unknown to him, Musk’s role from the beginning was to be a lightning rod for public anger and political backlash when Trump’s policies flush the US economy down the toilet. Musk will then be a convenient and already hated scapegoat—an American scapegoat.

Corpspace!

WHY in 2016 and again in 2024 did the most powerful country in the world elect a gibbering buffoon to be its president?

HOW can a semi–human creature be the richest man in the world?

WHAT really happens when one corporation devours another?

WHY are giant corporations headed by heartless nincompoops?

WHEN did one major American political party become an instrument of pure evil?

LEARN the facts behind the veil of our seeming reality, as revealed to me by a higher–dimensional being named Heidi.

In this indescribably important book, I tell you all about the terrifying beings controlling our fates and toying with our destinies. Read this book and learn the truth!

Or possibly I made it all up.

 

E-book is free on Amazon from Wednesday, 1/8, through the weekend. 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DS9Y948Z