Halloween came early to Durban on Thursday as young civilians dressed up as military veterans, rent-seekers and credulous footstools masqueraded as revolutionaries and free thinkers, and one very rich, very cosseted man pretended to be a victim, all in service of an absurd ritual called the National Welcome Prayer Day, in honour of Jacob Zuma.
Of course, heathen festivals like Halloween were the furthest thing from anyone’s mind, as a parade of piety shuffled past the microphone, with priests, prophets and apostles all offering prayers for the wellbeing of the Big Man in whose name everyone had been bussed in.
Some of the information being presented as gospel, however, was a tad iffish.
Prof Caesar Nongqunga, for example, the top apostle of the Twelve Apostles Church In Christ, claimed that Zuma was a “chosen one”, a fairly eccentric claim given that Zuma and his party were chosen by only 34% of eligible voters the last time he contested a general election, and that not even 50% of his own party chose him as its leader at Nasrec a couple of years later.
Still, I suppose one shouldn’t expect too much logic from a gathering where people in academic gowns were paraded in honour of the man who famously disparaged “clever blacks”.
Indeed, the whole event seemed specifically constructed to avoid any rational thought whatsoever, being, instead, a ritualised throwing of toys out of the cot by thin-skinned baby-men, their hurt feelings soothed by prayers, praise and play-play warriors and groupies.
And boy, were their feelings hurt. The Bible verses being read and the sermons being delivered were heavy with betrayal and martyrdom. Across on Twitter, Zuma followers angrily vowed they would never forgive the Judases in the ANC for what they did to their messiah.
Inevitably, there was talk of a second coming, with portentous invocations of 2022, that blessed day prophesied by the high priests of Radical Economic Transformation, when Cyril Ramaphosa is removed, a Zuma puppet is installed, it becomes illegal for the ANC to lose in 2024, and we pick up where we left off in 2017.
It was all desperately fantastical stuff, best exemplified by a poster reading: “Zuma is us. We are Zuma.”
(Oh my darling. My poor darling. You are not Zuma. Not even a little bit. If you try to defraud taxpayers of R250m to spend on your house, you’re going to jail, and Ace Magashule and the premier of KZN aren’t going to organise a special prayer do for you. Trust me. Jacob Zuma cares about as much for you as he cared for his oath of office.)
It was ironic, then, that in the midst of this orgy of self-delusion, self-righteousness and revisionism, the most honest moment of the day should have been provided by the man himself.
The Zondo Commission, Zuma said, had been “used by those who fear what I represent”.
No politician has ever said a truer thing.
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