Jokes carry subtexts which, in reality, touch on the more serious issues of life. The fact that reality is often couched in a joke does not mean it is actually funny. But funny is the only way to mediate the seriousness of the condition. I shall try and illustrate by retelling a joke.
Opera singers regard successful performances at La Scala in Milan, Italy, as irrefutable evidence that they have arrived.
There is a story about one such young aspirant who gets to play a serious role by default. On the night of his debut, he got to the first serious aria, and put in everything he could to win over the very informed and imperious opera lovers.
His performance triggered a standing ovation accompanied by the standard call for an encore. He couldn’t believe it. He gets the nod from the maestro in the orchestra pit and launches into a second performance of the aria he had just sung.
To his amazement, he had to survive five calls for a repeat. Totally overcome, he stopped the aria and addressed the patrons with a plea for permission to carry one with the rest of the libretto. A cynical voice called out from the darkened auditorium: “Signor, first-a we teach-a you to sing that-a one right, then we go on with the opera.”
I leave my erudite readers to work through to the denouement of this tragi-comedic scenario. But pause to examine the ironic truths embedded in the story. There is the brashness of the newcomer who expects accolades.
Yet the accolades that do come mean something completely different.
Knowledgeable patrons of the arts remind him that there are no shortcuts to fame and fortune.
He had to be taught a lesson. Subtly, and with some circumspection, he was told he had delusions of grandeur, that he was in the company of those who knew what the acceptable performance standard was, that it was not going to be tampered with or lowered to accommodate his bloated little ego and the bus would be stopped if he couldn’t meet the accepted norms.
If he carries on to complete the performance, he is both a brave and wiser man, having been castigated on the one hand, and guided by centuries of experience to improve or die trying.
I find that my subjective and quirky sense of humour finds a parallel between our situation and our present under-performing tenors in this vast opera called The Republic of South Africa.
We need the voices of experts, accountable critics and positive participants to stop the poor performance and offer the guidelines for at least a better performance based on knowledge, insight, accepting consequences, and displaying accountability.
All the necessary signs of moral and ethical well-being that is the essence of good and fair governance.
And is that my solution? I don’t know. But what if we applied the notion that the Republic is home to predominantly black people? Then allow that they could be ruled by a predominantly black government. And like the operatic performance that serves as a philosophical underpinning to this week’s piece, let us speak of a change of heart, change of attitude, of effort, of vision.
The change doesn’t have to mean replace or kick out. We are still young enough to acknowledge that mistakes have been made. When we accept that, we can go to the seriously seminal notion that the Constitution is not too sacred to be tweeted.
And those who aspire to accept this challenge must sign a pledge to provide a public demonstration of a willingness to learn and not ride a gravy train, leaving behind so many emotional, psychical and physical cadavers in its miserable wake.
Atilla the Hun is notorious for claiming: “Where I have walked, the grass will never grow again.” Let’s not go there. We need reconfiguration, rethinking, redefining of the essential, and a demonstration of good intent from all the role-players.
Let the rehearsals for a better performance begin.
* Alex Tabisher.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.
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