Every cause has its in-house dimwits

I recently saw a picture of pro-choice protesters picketing outside some legislative building in America. One of the protesters had a placard that read, "If abortion is murder, then [fellatio] is cannibalism".

Her fellow protesters had their backs turned towards her. Perhaps I read too much into their posture, but I think they were subconsciously trying to slink away from her, lest they be guilty by association.

On the one hand, it was obvious she thought she was helping their cause, but I suspect there were discussions along the lines of, "Who's going to tell the comrade with the crazy eye about fertilisation and all that?"

I think we've all experienced this. It's a default human condition to now and then find ourselves in an "us and them" situation, with people on your side and another group on the other side, locked in combat literally and figuratively. And then someone on your side will inevitably overshoot the mark and go too far.

The first time I experienced this phenomenon of people believing they are helping was as an eight-year-old at Esihonqeni Lower Primary in Hammarsdale. I cannot remember why my posse was at loggerheads with the other fellows but it had something to do with a football game we felt we had lost because our nemeses had cheated.

Anyway, in the middle of hurling expletives at the cheats and vice versa, a chap on our side, Samson Mfeka, yells, "Shut up you monkey because your skanky mother is sleeping with the pastor!"

Whoa!

While we felt it was unfair that the winner was scored Maradona hand-of-God style, we didn't feel strongly enough about it to cast aspersions on the sexual morality of anybody's mother. But we were in the middle of a battle of principle and couldn't back down, so we pressed on, cringing internally.

That is one of my earliest memories of experiencing an internal discomfort with being part of a group. Especially a group with clearly defined opponents. Unfortunately, I had already been co-opted into the tribe called Kaizer Chiefs, whose sole reason for existence, it seemed to me, was to loathe Orlando Pirates with a smouldering passion.

I remember watching the 1981 Mainstay Cup final with a bunch of Kaizer Chiefs fanatics when one of my friends yelled at the TV set, "Stop diving in the box Jomo Sono, you fat toad!" Hawu. For starters, Jomo was clearly hacked from behind and, secondly, why the colourful language just because the man had a bit of an unhurried metabolism? Even then I thought, "Mark overshot. Too much!" - but bit my tongue because, hey, we're at war over here.

I followed with keen interest the goings-on at the recent ANC Youth League Eastern Cape congress in East London. Apparently some comrades became so passionate about "furthering the aims of the national democratic revolution for the benefit of the poorest of the poor" they sommer started bashing each other over the head with chairs.

Luthuli House is always at pains to dispel rumours of factions within the ANC, so I'm assuming this was just a case of brotherly love overshooting the mark. Still, I know many sincere, non-chair-throwing ANCYL comrades personally. When I asked them why they don't speak out when their comrades' exuberance crosses the line, they mumbled something about "being seen to be taking sides".

Sides that don't exist officially.

This is a universal phenomenon. When President Barack Obama was running for the presidency for the first time in 2008, his opponent was Senator John McCain, whose rabid supporters were in the habit of overshooting the mark. If Obama wasn't a Muslim, he was an Arab terrorist. Poor McCain tried to ignore it until one rally where a woman started a rant about not trusting Obama because he's an Arab. McCain's hand moved faster than a chameleon's tongue and snatched the microphone from her before responding, "No ma'am, he's not."

It's not that Obama didn't have his own "helpers". There was the Rev Jeremiah Wright, who took things too far at every turn by yelling "God damn America!" from the pulpit until Obama had to pull him aside. I imagine the conversation went something like, "You're aware that I want to become the president of America, Rev?"

This is the real reason I have never joined a political party and have steered clear of any association where I might have to participate in any form of gangsta mentality. It's also the reason I've given organised religion a wide berth in my adult years, much to my beloved family's discomfort. Other Catholics around me kept overshooting the mark, besmirching me with the same brush in the process. It pains me to report that I can't seem to get away from the overshooters.

Sometime last year I went to fetch my nine-year-old from school and found him in the middle of a heated debate with a mate of his who insists Madiba "was against the ANC" because his dad told him so. As gently as I can, I correct the factual inaccuracy at which point my midget decides to "help me" by adding: "And your dad doesn't know what he's talking about." Oy vey!

Email Ndumiso Ngcobo at ngcobon@sundaytimes.co.za or follow him on Twitter @NdumisoNgcobo

Ngcobo's book Eat, Drink & Blame the Ancestors, a collection of Sunday Times columns (Two Dogs & Sunday Times Books, R190), is available now.