Courtesy of His Grace, here is a woman by the name of Memory. She is an ordinary citizen of Zimbabwe. She is cursed to live in extraordinary times, ruled over by an extraordinary shit. Comrade Robert Ebagum.
Background notes (1). I was born in Rhodesia in 1958, and while I left there in mum's arms, elements of it's earth and culture informed, and inform my life even now. I watched Smith's desperate attempt to arrest the wheel of history with some sympathy (tribalism is a two way street), but I was consistently ambivalent. Rhodesia was something I could not feel wholly right in supporting; or wholly right in condemning. Needless to say, in the seventies I was in something of a minority.
I knew the country would go to hell after independence, and I was vocal about it; and oh, wasn't I the Fascist/Racist/'Cunt Of The Month', choose the epithet yourself. I took that stance not because I'm an imperialist or supremacist, but because I watched the whole process of African independence unfold throughout the sixties, and I knew that the 'quick and dirty fix' and 'cut and run' approach adopted by the former colonial powers inevitably engendered the same result sooner or later.
I watched the dismal spectacle of David Owen hanging on Andy Young's coat-tails in '77, and deperately hoped the Labour Party would have no rôle in any settlement; as the only talent lefties have in terms of foreign relations is that of inevitably finding the wrong arsehole to lick. Oddly enough it was the Thatcher government which brokered the deal that condemned Zimbabwe to the living hell it has become. It was a narrow and stupid government which always seized on expediency over depth and intelligence in foreign and defence policy, the consequences of which would be amply demonstrated in the South Atlantic in 1982 (I may come back to that one day when time permits). So. Interest declared.
Back to Memory. I won't wear you out with the back-story. Cranmer was sufficiently forensic, suffice it to say. This is what Comrade Bob's filthy bastards did to her.
Take a deep breath.
Now take another one.
Background notes (2). Until 2002 I was a Senior Mortuary Technician in the NHS. I've seen injuries of all stripes. Locomotive strikes, electrocution, air accidents, immolation, suffocation, gunshot, gangrene. Name your poison, name your method, people shot, hung, stabbed, garroted and chopped up with an angle-grinder, overdosed, punched through a shop window with a truck and sucked into a rolling road designed to test vehicle brakes.
I have NEVER seen beating injuries like that. Before seeing the photographs, I would have snorted derisively and told you, in my lofty 'I know better than you' voice that injuries like that could only develop as a consequence of pressure sores or gangrene. Well. We live and learn.
That woman was beaten with such ferocity, and such insane concentrated persistence that it caused her flesh to split and tear. They didn't stop there though, and just carried on thrashing away. The end result is analagous to this. What kind of a mind can willfully inflict this?. Are they even human as I understand the term?
This, is Thabo Mbeki. A stupid, spineless, fuckless cretin. He is the President of South Africa. I call him a stupid, spineless fuckless cretin because...
He supports and condones this fucking thing. The author of what was done to Memory.
He's gearing up to do this to many more Zimbabweans even as I type this. We stand by, but even Africa stands by. This is a filthy world sometimes.
Thabo Mbeki currently holds the following honours:
KStJ GCB(Hon) GCMG OE
What is here to honour. Why do we honour braindead, fuckwitted apologist slobs like this?