This evening my roving eye alighted, as essayists used to write in a gentler, more civilized time, on a slim volume that I recently purchased at a second-hand bookshop in Braamfontein Centre. My parents used to own the same book, which is why it gave me pleasure to come across it recently, at the modest price of R40.
It's a 1947 edition (Victor Gollancz Ltd) of Palestine: Land of Promise by Walter Clay Lowdermilk. "How have the Jews reclaimed the soil of Palestine? How many can Palestine absorb?"
Lowdermilk, we learn, was the Assistant Chief of the Soil Conservation Service of the United States; and the foreword was written by Sir John Russell, President of the International Society of Soil Science. And Lowdermilk actually wrote and broadcast an 11th commandment, "dedicated to the Palestinian Jewish villages whose good stewardship of the earth inspired this idea".
Times change, don't they? No one seems to be talking about Palestine as the land of promise and no one's singing the praises of the Jews anymore. Oy va voy lanu, woe are we. Ma iyeh ha-sof? What will the end be?
Seems as though some nice, friendly Israeli naval marines abseiled down from a couple of helicopters just to check that all was well on the lead ship of a flotilla of six ships bringing medical and building material to Gaza (though the Israelis would doubtless claim that there was some other stuff under the seats, so to speak).
If I understood what the Israeli prime minister was saying the other day, the chaps merely wanted to see that there was sufficient water and food as well as the latest videos in the ship's lounge.
But a bunch of Turkish "activists" whacked the brave boys in khaki with iron bars, stabbed them, and even allegedly opened fire on them. Is that the way to greet friends dropping in from the sky for an impromptu meeting?
I would have said not; but columnist David Bullard said to me yesterday at lunch, as he consumed some figs with kosher ham: "Look, if some fellows rappelled from a helicopter on to, say, my house, I might also hit ‘em with an iron bar."
But Bullard is (by birth) a soutie, a war-like bunch if ever there was one. (And, don't forget, he's actually still carrying a 9mm slug in his pelvic region; this is a warrior of note.) So war-like are the Brits that their government is not going to allow their A-grade hooligans to come here for the Fifa world cup. We're getting the B team of thugs. Why do we always get second best? I think someone should raise this with Septimus Bluster.
And the Turks are a war-like bunch too. Ever since Mustafa Kemal Ataturk saved the ass of the Ottoman Empire, the Turks have been troublesome. Remember what they did to Lawrence of Arabia in the movie? I can't ever forgive them for that, even if that Arabist masochist actually enjoyed it.
And then, if this weren't a family web site with no age restrictions, I could tell you what happened to me about 40 years ago when I tried to go through Turkish customs with a suitcase full of joints on a slow day. I can't ever forgive them for that either.
And the Turkish Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, has been gaaning aan much better. This oke has found, so to speak, his meal ticket. He reminds me of ol' Roelof "Pik" Botha in his heyday or maybe Madonna scenting a PR coup in the offing.
Frankly, if it weren't for the great Turkish poet, Orhan Veli Kanik (1914-1950), I would have little time for the Turks. Do you know his poem "Fine days"? (The translations are by Bernard Lewis.)
Fine days
These fine days have been my ruin.
On this kind of day I resigned
my job in "Pious Foundations"
on this kind of day I started to smoke
on this kind of day I fell in love
on this kind of day I forgot
to bring home bread and salt
on this kind of day I had a relapse
into my versifying disease.
These fine days have been my ruin.
Or how about "For the Fatherland"?
For the Fatherland
What have we not done for this our fatherland!
Some of us have died;
Some of us have made speeches.
But, anyway, having segued into Turkish poetry for a moment, there are some things about which I wonder.
Why in heaven's name did the Israelis not wait for the flotilla to cross out of international waters? If they'd waited, there wouldn't be this tedious debate about piracy, etc.
Did the Israelis think the marines would be welcomed with open arms - that people would wave Israeli flags and break out the (Turkish) coffee? Well, clearly the Israelis did think something along these lines - or they would not have rappelled down in such few numbers and then have panicked (which is essentially what happened when the marines were attacked) and opened fire. Had the Israelis previously been in radio contact with the ship? If so - if they had told the ship's captain that they were coming aboard - why don't the Israelis say so now?
Anyway, another botched exercise - in public relations terms - for the Israelis; another outpouring of righteous bilge from the Palestinians, Turks and everyone else with a laptop or mobile phone. And some more dead people.
Meanwhile, however, we in Seffrica have been moving on with serious issues. For example, there has been - in the fairest Cape - the great battle of the 51 or 65 (the number keeps changing) crappers.
Now I have to admit that I haven't had the heart (or stomach) to follow this business in minute detail. But, if I understand correctly, it goes something like this:
Quite a number of families, in Makhaza, Khayelitsha, did not, so to speak, have a pot to piss in. So the council built unenclosed 1316 toilets. This seemed pretty bizarre - even for South Africa, even in a DA-controlled province and city. What use are unenclosed toilets? No one wants to watch their neighbours doing the necessary.
But apparently, if the council dug the holes and put in the sewerage, the Makhaza-ites had agreed to build the walls and roofs of the toilets. Except that not all of them had agreed and not all of them could afford the material - and 51 were left unenclosed and they had to visit the loo in front of the passing crowd.
There was consequently a complaint by the ANC youth league to the Human Rights Commission and there was a great deal of public outrage - and Helen Zille apologised to the folk in Makhaza.
So then the city council, led by Mayor Dan Plato, comes along and starts enclosing the aforementioned toilets - with sheets of corrugated steel.
No way, says the youth league, claiming to represent the desires of the people; the people Makhaza deserve to crap within concrete structures, no two ways about it; and the Yoof start demolishing the new enclosures.
Fine, said our Dan, showing the wisdom of Aristotle, or an Israeli naval officer, if you're going to destroy the work of the council, we'll take everything away - and you guys can go back to crapping in the living room. And this is what the council's workers did.
What have we not done for this our fatherland! Some of us have died; some of us have made speeches; some of us have taken away what we previously erected.
These shitty days have been our ruin.
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