I don’t know about you, but the absurd daily pageant of political-criminal manoeuvring in SA has turned me into a passive spectator. At the very moment that I should be most driven to action, to critique, to protest, I am instead paralysed by the bizarre, disorienting twists and turns of our national plot – it’s like watching a cross between a complex Shakespearean history play, a pantomime and a soap opera.

The tale is replete with obvious scoundrels and redoubtable heroes, but it is also full of characters of ambiguous moral standing: those who used to be the enablers and underlings of the arch-villain but are now changing their colours, or those who are patently not to be trusted but who seem to be serving a useful purpose in opposing the wicked puppeteers pulling strings behind the scenes. While watching, we are waiting. Waiting to see what will happen in Parliament. Waiting to see what will happen in the courts. Waiting to see what will happen on board that ship of fools called the ANC. Waiting. We are witnesses, bystanders, rubberneckers, voyeurs — desperately hoping we won’t become part of the collateral damage caused by the battles that so entrance us. But as we try to discern the contours of this very public conflict over the future of our country, we become passive spectators of our own private lives. We hold off on important decisions. Or we make impulsive decisions, driven b...

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