I've been waiting for an opportunity to drag out this little anecdote, and thanks to the wily whiner Brandon Huntley, and the stupidity of one Canadian official, its time has finally come.
So there I was one Sunday evening, taking a drunken piss against a random garden wall on Clifton Beach. Not very polite, I know, but I'd had more than a few sundowners, and couldn't find a toilet. So I wandered around the maze of alleyways between the high wooden walls of obscenely expensive cottages until I found a secluded spot.
On the other side of the wall a group of people sat in their multi-million Rand garden, talking about the state of the nation. "What nobody seems to realise," piped a shrill female voice, "is that
we're the real victims in this country!"
I burst out laughing. The conversation stopped dead, and I high-tailed it out of there as someone came running to investigate. To this day I'd be willing to bet hard-earned money that the worst thing that ever happened to this women was that one Sunday evening, some drunken slob took a slash against her garden wall.
This is just one amusing example of the South African culture of victimhood, which unites us all, whether we like it or not. Like a dysfunctional family, everyone is convinced they're the victims of everyone else, which can lead to awkward and embarrassing situations when the rest of the world witnesses our little spats.
For example, I was highly amused by Julius Malema's insistence that that the Caster controversy was motivated by racism (it wasn't Julius – it was motivated by the fact that she looks like a freaking MAN, and the chattering classes will jump at any opportunity to see some new vagoo), but his claim is no more ludicrous than the average
gatvol whitey sociopath anonymously venting their spleen on local comments boards. White complainers are anything but a minority group - and they all seem to be able to afford internet connections.
But while most are content to impotently shake their skinny fists from the comfort of their cubicles, Capetonian
Brandon Huntley took his perceived victimhood one step further and became the first white South African to be granted refugee status in Canada, claiming persecution from black South Africans.
At his hearing, Huntley, a 31 year-old man from Mowbray, claimed that he had been attacked seven times by blacks, who called him a "settler" and a "white dog". Canadian official William Davis ruled that Huntley would "stick out like a sore thumb due to his colour in any part of the country".
Really? Just...
really? I don't know, maybe Huntley was hanging out at the wrong KFC or something, but as a fellow southern suburbs kid, who also grew up 10 minutes away from Cavendish Square, I honestly can't relate. Attacked seven times, he says? What the Hell was this guy doing? Playing
Die Hard 3 in Gugulethu?
It's pretty obvious that Huntley took his chance, played the system, and won, thanks to the ignorance of at least one Canadian official. I'd be interested to see if Davis would grant refugee status to an impoverished squatter, or how many victims of apartheid Canada took under its wing, but hey, that's just the communist in me talking.
The ANC have responded with anger to the ruling, but they should just learn to relax. If anyone should be angry, it's the Canadian government. They're the ones who are now stuck with Huntley.
Let's be honest: we haven't exactly lost a cure for AIDS here. Huntley is an unemployed irrigation sprinkler salesman who ended up in Canada working as a carnival attendant until his visa ran out, then stayed on illegally. With his departure, South Africa is one redneck lighter.
And good luck to him. But by granting Huntley refugee status from his own country, Davis has set a dangerous precedent for his. Now Canadian officials have no option but to accept all South Africans who follow Huntley's example. Or maybe just the white ones from the suburban Hell that is Mowbray. I don't know.
I suggest to all South Africans thinking of emigrating to do so now. Go, go, go! Before someone tells on us, or sends them a postcard of a rugby match. Canada has finally opened their doors to our cold, huddled masses. And if you think this is great news to the real victims living on Clifton Beach, imagine how the Australians must be heaving a sigh of relief.
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