“This is a conspiracy! That’s what this is! One big damn conspiracy! And everyone’s in on it!” Unless you’ve been held captive in a Utah basement by a bunch of militant Mormons for the past 40 years, you probably recognise this as a line from arguably the greatest movie made in the last 30 years, The Shawshank Redemption.
It won’t surprise any of the regular readers of this column that I love a big, fat, juicy conspiracy theory. What did you say? Camilla is a mole from a parallel equestrian universe sent to infiltrate the most influential human family on Planet Earth so horses can take over? I’m down with that theory. Of course, in the biopic they’ll all be ridden by a blond Brad Pitt lookalike playing the King of the Abashante of Southern Sudan. And, like Jesus, we’ll all look the other way.
Where was I? Ah yes, conspiracies. You and I have emanated from a nightmare in which we’re pawns in Bill Gates’s evil bid to control every human mind in the universe. As I type this, I’m doing Gates’s bidding because I took those jabs in 2021. I can feel it. Far too often, when the missus isn’t in the mood, I find myself on Pornhub, searching for Gates’s beautiful face.
Here’s the thing about conspiracy theories: most of them are rubbish. But nevertheless, conspiracy theories are far more entertaining than Showmax or Mzansi soapies.
About a week after Mandela was released from prison, a rumour started circulating that it wasn’t Nelson who had been released, but rather some impostor masquerading as the great liberator. It embarrasses me how much joy this theory gave me. For starters, the reality of Madiba didn’t match any of my expectations as an 18-year-old who’d hoped we’d be driving white people into the Indian Ocean — as Harry Gwala, the Lion of uMgungundlovu, had been promising us since 1988, when he was released from Robben Island. This Nelson fellow was too calm for my liking. Besides, Castro, Arafat, Che, Lumumba, Machel and every guerrilla freedom fighter I’d ever known about had facial hair. This fellow was clean-shaven like George Bush snr and every other US president going back over 100 years. Heck, even Robart (this is no typo) Mugabe had the decency to leave a tiny Hitler tache on his upper lip to respect the freedom fighter code. I mean, what would Stalin or Lenin have been without their designer moustaches?
The universe needs conspiracy theories. No, don’t call your woke friends and agitate for me to be stoned in public just yet. Fake news is a serious global problem. Donald J Trump has a good shot at becoming the 47th president of the US as I write this. Not only should he be languishing in a Mexican prison, requesting favours from twins called Manuel and Gonzo, but he has no business being eligible for the presidency at all. And if we’re going to be brutally honest, neither do 90% of the candidates whose faces will be on our own ballot papers on May 29. You’ll never convince me that the best candidates to lead us into the future are Ramasofa, John Vuligate, Juju, Mshiniwami and that other riff-raff led by Hairman, Gayton, Meshoe and Mmusi. Are you serious?
The fake moon landing. George W Bush sending planes into the World Trade Center towers. The Oliver Stone-supported theory of FBI involvement in the JFK assassination. The freaking Flat Earthists. The problem with all of these scenarios is the amount of fake news that isn’t as fake as we thought. As it turns out, the CIA was actually involved in Patrice Lumumba’s execution and Mandela’s arrest in Howick. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’ll give you an example. I was raised in Hammarsdale, 40 minutes from Durban. But I studied at Inkamana High, four to five hours north of my birthplace, in Vryheid. Over the next five years, I noticed the chaps from the KwaZulu part of KwaZulu-Natal (it wasn’t called that in the 1980s) were significantly taller than the ones from the urban areas. In fact, even in my adulthood, I’ve observed that folks from Giyani, Polokwane, Mtunzini, Mahlabathini, Empangeni, Brits and other rural areas are significantly taller than folks from Soweto, Thembisa, Mdantsane, Umlazi and other urban areas. Take a moment and think about this. Rural people tend to be taller and bigger. Now, pay attention — this is how folks sign into cults. I’m talking absolute nonsense despite the big words and the moments of recognition of certain “facts” you’re remembering that support my assertions.
But allow me to tell you what’s at stake. A good friend recently posted a clip of a comedian claiming that the “Mama se mama sama makossa” chant on Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ on the greatest album of all time, Michael Jackson’s Thriller, was him chanting, “Imma say it one more time, and I won’t stop!” Dude, no! Around 2008, I wrote in the Mail & Guardian’s Thought Leader platform that I believed the internet would makes us smarter. I was so wrong. After 38 comments from folks gasping at this revelation, I asked if anyone had ever Googled the official lyrics to Jackson’s song. Only then did it dawn on people that he’d sampled Manu Dibango’s Soul Makossa, many years after the fact. None of that will change the reason I’m only 5’7”. It’s because Wouter Basson put something in township water systems, man. My ancestors were much taller!
