To the polls we go
AS WE PREPARE to go to the polls tomorrow, a story doing the rounds seems apposite. It concerns a politician who is knocked down by a car and killed. His soul arrives at the Pearly Gates.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St Peter. "But before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official. We're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in."
"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."
"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven."
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules."
And with that St Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is very happy and in evening dress.
They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly and nice guy and has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realises, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven."
So 24 hours pass with the politician joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realises it, the 24 hours have gone by and St Peter returns.
'Well then, you've spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity."
The politician reflects for a minute, then he answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."
So St Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell.
The doors of the elevator open and he's in a barren landscape covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.
The Devil comes over and puts his arm around his shoulder. "I don't understand," stammers the politician. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"
The Devil smiles. "Yesterday we were campaigning ... today you voted."
All quiet …
SO FAR, SO good. The politicos have been badmouthing one another, but so far political violence seems to have been minimal.
It was not always so. Reader Ron Legg, of Hillcrest, writes in remind us of the tension that seized the country at election time in the old South Africa.
He spent the mid-50s in Burgersdorp where he recalls Nat and United Party families at best not speaking to one another during election season, at worst getting into fierce punch-ups. A woman he knew always took a nine-inch hatpin with her to political meetings, to defend herself when things got ugly.
Yes, it's quite true. People fought with bicycle chains and threw chairs about up in Northern Natal. A schoolmate and one of the masters shared a police cell after they turned the firehoses on a Nat meeting in the Pietermaritzburg City Hall. Verwoerd was on the platform at the time.
Days of sturm und drang – but no longer. Just as long as it's not the calm before the storm.
Tailpiece
THE ART DEALER went bankrupt. He ran out of Monet.
Last word
Human beings are perhaps never more frightening than when they are convinced beyond doubt that they are right.
GRAHAM LINSCOTT
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