SOB....The Fear and Loathing Independent Annals: The Venda Nostra is Back
In the olden days - 20 to 30 years ago - we young journalists struggled to land a byline on our stories.
In those grand days of fear and loathing, we had our names attached to our works of genius only after about three years' apprenticeship - and even then, the news editor had to put in a special plea, with which the chief sub-editor, editor and the other assembled luminaries who were gathered at the evening news conference (or "prayer meeting") would either sombrely agree - or mostly not.
In short, our articles, no matter how fine, were mostly written by "a staff reporter".
I remember, as a cadet on the Cape Times, being outraged that my name had been left off a scintillating piece I had written about some Afrikanders (that's the correct spelling for the four-legged creature) at what was then called the Goodwood Agricultural Show.
I had the temerity to approach the chief sub, a then august personage, or so he thought, to ask why. He was incandescent with rage and I remained "a staff reporter" for the rest of my Cape cadetship.
Those were the days when my wing man, or wing person, or gat chaver (buddy who watched your arse - and vice-versa), was a woman called Paddi Clay - who has of course now sold out and is working for management at Avusa.
The offending chief sub was Rory Wilson. He was a self-important sort of fellow. But he'd attended the Diocesan College for Boys, Bishops (you know, like Howard Barrell, John Battersby and Raymond Ackerman), so you had to forgive him. And, anyway, Rory did improve a little with age; we would work together later at the Argus/Independent. And I think he's now the successful CEO of Juta's, while I am ... well, writing for Politicsweb. So who's the prettiest parrot then?
Anyway, all this byline stuff has now changed - which is the point I really wanted to make (and I apologise for having taken so long to make it). Nowadays every Tom, Jill, and Barry - every pisher who taps out a word - gets a byline. Which is fine too; whatever gets everyone through the night.
But what it does mean is that when you come across something by "a staff reporter", the article is one of three things. It might be (a) a "must-go-in" on which the editor has insisted but with which the writer did not want anything to do because it's about the editor's wife's auntie; it might be (b) a no-brainer - a hand-out from the city council about changing office hours, so the writer doesn't particularly want his/her name on it; or (c) it's a bullshit story that the editor wants in for political reasons - and so he (the editor) puts it together himself or it gets written by the newspaper's so-called marketing department.
Last Friday - or perhaps it was the week before - I came across a beaut from category (c) - of course by "a staff reporter" - on page five (I think) of The Star's 2nd edition.
It was about someone called Makhudu Sefara whom, it explained, was the new editor of The Sunday Independent (TSI) and whom, though you and I might have missed his ascent into the starry vault of the heavens, was "a rising star" in South African journalism.
Let me say right away that (a) (lest you didn't know) I spent about a decade on or connected with TSI; and (b) I know Sefara and he's a nice guy. (So are they all, all nice guys, as Marc Antony remarked.)
He might not have the greatest relationship imaginable with the English language, he might not exactly be unbiased in his political views, and he might not have done much journeyman work on a newspaper (being a sub or even a general reporter, for example).
But, hey, being on good terms with the English language is not required any more by local journalists; no one, with the possible exception of Patrick Laurence, is "unbiased" any more about politics in this country - the "unbiased" animal is deader than the dodo; and, as, say, Anton Harber might point out, most editors don't know much about real journalism anyway and their newspapers are probably all the better for it.
But Sefara must have some talents, right? I mean, that must be why he got the job, right?
For it's a very pivotal job at a very difficult time, or it should be. After all, TSI is the (alleged) jewel in Sir Anthony O'Reilly's SA crown - and SA seems to be the only place where O'Reilly does have a crown to cover his head (as in "a pot to piss in").
However, the sweet little troika that runs Independent locally - Tony Coward, Nazeem "N-a-a-a-z" Howa (an exceptionally balanced fellow - he has chips on both his shoulders), and Moegsien Williams - have wanted to shut down the newspaper for years.
First of all, they just don't get it about TSI. It's as simple as that. TSI tried - and was for a long time - a leading, upmarket newspaper with pretty good journalism, well produced, a little bit of subtlety and humour, pretty balanced, a better level of literacy than most, etc. But all the troika really understands is - to use Frank Zappa's immortal phrase - titties and beer (and rugby). Anything more complicated than that and they grow puzzled; their Neanderthal brows furrow perceptibly.
In addition, Howa and Williams - who fiddled together on that rag that Guy Berger used to run during the Struggle - South, was it? - actually believe that they know something about newspapers and newspapering - and no one is about to disabuse them of that notion.
Actually, I'm being unfair. Howa and Williams are in fact a very humorous twosome. They will tell you about their struggles during the, er, struggle with the appalling white fascists who used to inhabit the mahogany rows of Auntie Argus (and, by gum, there were some beauts). But now, in terms of staff relations, respect for their fellow man, and good, old cut-throatedness, Howa and Williams make those fascists of yore seem like a bunch of girl scouts. Is that not funny, or what?
Second, however, and more importantly, the damn thing (The Sunday Independent) has never made money. Actually it's been run at a loss since its get-go. I think there was a time when TSI could have been fixed. But fixing it would have required money - serious amounts of it, for serious marketing and circulation efforts, which would in turn - if circulation could be ratcheted up - bring in more advertising. But the troika - or Coward in particular - and the other two are guided by him on this issue - would rather part with his life than spend any money. Coward has a pathological need to feed the former Irish winger with more and more money, never mind if it's at the expense of the local company.
The troika made a bizarre and farcical attempt at marketing in about June last year - a few ads featuring a burning, apparently second-hand, orange chair (it was attached to interviews that were billed as "being in the hot seat" or some such crap). But, because there was virtually no budget for this pusillanimous "marketing" effort, it fizzled embarrassingly.
So the once mighty TSI was staggering along, with an editor who did not come in much on publication day, a deputy editor who was the de facto editor and bottle washer, a so-called books editor who was doing general interviews as well (each one starting, "I meet X in a coffee shop" or "Praise the Lord" - she must have drunk a lot of coffee and done a lot of genuflecting), two reporters, its magazine staff of two, and being served by a political bureau, not many of whose members were on great terms with the English language - or with simple rationality, for that matter - either.
And then recently - from the start of October, I guess - came the appointment of Sefara. Why? And how will he save the day?
To answer this question, we must segue to certain events that took place a few months ago at Media24. There, the powers that be - or maybe it was only Koos Bekker, the head honcho - had a rush of blood to the head and decided to mess with City Press, a perfectly good newspaper of what I would call an "Africanist" flavour.
To cut a long story short, City Press had been run by the Venda Nostra and the Official Africanist Enemies of the Comprehensible English Sentence. There was Khathu Mamaila and there was the "rising star" Sefara, spiritual sons of former Comrade Editor Mathatha Tsedu, spiritual brother of Comrade Joel "Jewel" Netshitenshe, spiritual son of Comrade President Thabo Mbeki, who was alas upended by the Zulu boy from Zululand, spiritual son of ...
But enough of this genealogy stuff. Take it from me: Venda loyalties are as deep and complex as Semitic ones - probably more so. And by the way, all this rubbish of mine is not without relevance: it could be that the Venda Nostra's shares sunk at Media24 when it was borne in upon the boere that the okes at City Press had backed the wrong guy at Polokwane - which of course they had.
Anyway, Bekker or whomever decided they needed to widen City Press' appeal and so they hired Ferial "Pufferjee" Haffajee of Mail & Guardian fame. So Mamaila must have gone to see his buddy Williams some months ago at Independent and said, "Well, how about making me Comrade General Manager?"
This was a brave move - given that "N-a-a-a-z" has changed GMs more often than his socks. It gets even more interesting when one realises that Comrade General Manager Mamaila, having obviously been told that one of his new duties was to fix TSI, says: "Sure thing, N-a-a-a-z and Moegs, I'll turn it into a cutting edge, sophisticated black newspaper. This whitey stuff is old hat; that's why the circulation doesn't go up. But there's one condition: I have to have my own team there, right? So get rid of the de jure editor and de facto editors and I'll bring in my man, Comrade Makhudu."
So what's going to happen?
Well, given present economic circumstances, given the mother group's circumstances (O'Reilly's UK and Irish Independent newspapers, etc), and given the past performance of the troika - absolutely nothing is going happen. Zip. Nada. Niks. Diddely squat. Zilch.
In a few weeks' time, Comrade Editor Sefara will squeal to Comrade GM Mamaila: "But I need reporters and more wire services and people to sell advertising." And Comrade GM Mamaila will tell the troika and they'll say (as they have said to so many GMs and editors): "Kiss our Royal Canadian, baby".
And in about nine months' time - or less - the troika will ask the comrade GM and the comrade editor why they haven't performed as promised - and then they (the comrades) will move on to another group and the troika will finally be able to tell O'Reilly (if he's still around) that the time has come to ditch TSI. Cheers, big ears. Goodbye.
Of course the troika might surprise us all. Maybe, given the fragile nature of the O'Reilly empire, they have been talking to some locals - who have said, "Ok, cool, we'll step in when the time is ripe. But, in the meantime, ditch that old colonialist ‘paper, TSI; do some training for f**k's sake; and start an investigations unit like the boere just have - it's the in-thing".
The reason I say this is because, contrary to all previous behaviour, the troika have recently resuscitated a cadet training scheme (called The Academy of Excellence or some such nonsense) and also started an investigations unit under that master craftsman of fiction, Ivor Powell.
But I think it's just fiddling. I think we can, among other things, kiss TSI goodbye. In the meantime, what does one say about Comrade GM Mamaila hauling in his young buddy and landing him a job on a dying newspaper - and on the backs, so to speak, of a number of people who were retrenched nine months ago? And of the troika condoning it?
All I can do is quote my latest hero, sorry I mean role model, nine-year-old Eric Cartman of South Park: "It sucks, dude, it sucks like a donkey's balls."
Click here to sign up to receive our free daily headline email newsletter
