"Kill the Boer!" Malema sings, while holding his hand out in a gesture imitating a gun. In a skit on this theme a clothing store in a shopping mall specializing in satirical T-shirts sells shirts carrying the words: "Don't shoot me, I'm a tourist, not a Boer".
In the Equality Court in Johannesburg hours are spent analysing the meaning of the term "Boer". One after the other witnesses tries to give content to the meaning of the term. For some it signifies a farmer, for others it signifies an ethnic group, while it represents a system for others.
It is explained that the song is merely a struggle song. It is sung to pay tribute to the heroes of the past. Hours are spent on explaining. Too much explaining is being done.
During the court case I think of my uncle, Frik Hermann. He was kicked to death. His was a painful death. His ribs penetrated his lungs, and his attackers left him to die. A harmless old man of 78. I recall the smell of death that filled his house, the blood stains in his bedroom. I think of the flattened grass at the back of his house where the murderers were laying in ambush, waiting for him throughout the night. They were waiting to "kill" the Boer.
Neither the owner of the clothes store, nor any of the witnesses in the equality court is a Boer whose family members have been killed. Put yourself in the shoes of a wife whose husband was killed in the most brutal way possible. A child whose dad was tortured to death. A husband whose wife was raped, burnt with a hot iron, and then killed.
Put yourself in these people's shoes, and then sing: "Kill the Boer!" You can't. Your mouth turns dry, you get a lump in your throat, and tears well up in your eyes. When you speak to family members of victims all you want to say is: how can I help? When you look at the farm workers who have been unsettled by events, you want to ask: Lord, how did this happen? You simply cannot sing "Kill the Boer", for it hurts too much.