In 1948, the Boer government of South Africa enacted a policy called Apartheid. The main purpose of this policy was to segregate the population of South Africa along racial lines—keeping the blacks, coloureds, Indians, and whites separated from one another. As with any racially influenced debate, opinions on the merit and successes of Apartheid (which ended under intense global pressure in 1994) are sharply divided.
One side of the debate typically argues that the segregation of blacks by the white Boer was a crime against the very decency of humanity, and that the treatment of black people by the Apartheid regime were unforgivable acts of bigotry for which white South Africans should be held accountable for. They view the Apartheid regime as one of censorship, forced relocation, and clandestine murders, all of which are wholly unjustified, and that South Africa was an immoral state for half of the twentieth-century.
The other side counters that, while there were crimes committed by the Apartheid government against the black South Africans, the actions of black South Africans post-Apartheid show that the Boer policy was correct and justified. Crime rates, especially those of rape, have sky rocketed since the end of Apartheid.
Although crimes by the black population against the whites are so pervasive and persistent as to put white South Africans on genocide watch, the exorbitant crime rate affects all peoples—last year, the black captain of the national soccer team was killed in a home invasion. Inequality between the rich and poor has widened, and AIDS and HIV infections have become rampant. To top it all off, members of the (currently) ruling ANC party have sung songs containing lyrics which call for the murder of whites, including leftist cultural hero Nelson Mandela.
It’s obvious to see what side of the debate I’m on.
Unfortunately for myself (and quite fortunately for humanity, probably) my opinion on Apartheid is moot. I was one year old when Apartheid was repealed, and I am not even a citizen of South Africa. My writing only reaches a small segment of the population, and most of those readers are quite likely already on the second side of the Apartheid debate.
So let me bash someone who was a South African citizen, who was anti-Apartheid and who was most definitely influential about the debate; John Maxwell Coetzee: authour, smarmy douchebag, and winner of the 2003 Nobel Prize in Literature.
Who Is J.M. Coetzee?
Commonly referred to as J.M. Coetzee (and who will be referred to solely as Coetzee for the rest of the article because I’m lazy and you’re already bored), John Maxwell Coetzee was born in South Africa in 1940 to a Afrikaner family with roots in South Africa dating back to the 17th century.
Unlike many white children in South Africa today, Coetzee grew up under the safety of the Apartheid government. His childhood was one of bored safety and prosperity; his memoir of that time is a fictionalized autobiography, which means he basically makes up strife about his privileged childhood to make himself look more disadvantaged then he actually was.
While many modern Afrikaner children have to deal with all manner of harm being inflicted upon them by a desegregated multicultural society, Coetzee had a relatively sheltered upbringing and came of age during the radical 60’s. Coetzee spent most of his 20’s attending universities, first moving to the United Kingdom in 1962 and then to the United States in 1965.
He gathered degree after degree (and likely indulged in the sexual revolution with a bevy of co-eds) and participated in anti-Vietnam protests (which cost him a chance at American citizenship…there once was a time the US didn’t take too kindly to rich foreigners spitting on their veterans). Interestingly, while Coetzee was living a life of plenty and privilege in the US (and protesting the service of the young men of his host country while sleeping with their women), many of his Afrikaner peers were being conscripted to fight in a border war with Angola.
Portrait of a spoiled leftist
In 1968, at the ripe old age of 28, Coetzee got a cushy job teaching at the State University of New York at Buffalo and shortly thereafter wrote his first book in 1971. Coetzee’s writing, as with most people with too much intelligence and privilege and too little wisdom and experience in the real world, was written from a leftist bent, criticizing what he sees as oppressive systems (the [exaggerated] evils of colonization and closed nations which protect their own people are a recurring theme in his book).
Coetzee claims to be neither leftist nor right, portraying himself as being above both, though as mentioned before Coetzee is a) white; b) privileged; and c) spent most of the 1960’s in universities. I’ll let you judge for yourself if Coetzee comes across as the most intolerable kind of leftist; here is the plot summary from another of his autobiographical books [words bolded by Billy]:
Youth (or Youth: Scenes from Provincial Life II) (2002) is a semi-fictionalised autobiographical novel by J. M. Coetzee, recounting his struggles in 1960s London after fleeing the political unrest of Cape Town.
After graduating in mathematics and English, he moves in the hope of finding inspiration of becoming a poet and finding the woman of his dreams. However he finds none of this and instead, takes up a tedious job as a computer programmer. He feels alienated from the natives and never settles down, always aware of the scorn they see him with. He engages in a series of affairs, none of them fulfilling to him in the slightest. He scorns people’s inabilities to see through his dull exterior into the ‘flame’ inside him; none of the women he meets evokes in him the passion that, according to him, would allow his artistry to flourish and thus produce great poetry.
Here are two quotes from the book itself:
At the Everyman Cinema there is a season of Satyajit Ray. He watches the Apu trilogy on successive nights in a state of rapt absorption. In Apu’s bitter, trapped mother, his engaging, feckless father he recognizes, with a pang of guilt, his own parents. But it is the music above all that grips him, dizzyingly complex interplays between drums and stringed instruments, long arias on the flute whose scale or mode — he does not know enough about music theory to be sure which — catches at his heart, sending him into a mood of sensual melancholy that last long after the film has ended.
Here is a man who: flees political action in his own country, only to protest safely in another country which cannot charge him with any serious crime for political action or conscript him; who aspires to be a poet; who gets angry at people for not seeing how great he is; who watches “worldly” films from non-white countries; and who hates his parents, who treated him so badly that Coetzee is able to literally travel around the world and waste his youth banging out the burgeoning horde of Anglo sluts.
Oh – and he also is “alienated” from his fellow whites in the white countries he goes to, even though he has no trouble bedding the women of those countries. Coetzee is spoiled, hates his parents, hates his skin colour (though not the women who share his skin colour), is completely self assured of his own genius—though he blames others for not becoming the world’s greatest poet that he knows he is. Remind you of any members of the modern ultra left?
Seriously though; in the last golden age of Hollywood movies, Coetzee finds the Apu Trilogy to be his closest to his soul? Jesus Christ.
Coetzee returns to South Africa to guilt his fellow whites
In the early 70’s, when the political turmoil had abated somewhat and too old and prestigious to be conscripted into the military to fight he ongoing bush war, Coetzee returned to South Africa and continued his writing career with furor. Coetzee’s anti-white, anti-nationalist, anti-western book themes found a very receptive audience amongst the boomer liberals and Marxists who had taken over the intellectual establishments during the 60’s and 70’s.
During speeches at award ceremonies (the ones he could be bothered going to: Coetzee is infamous for not even bothering to show to collect his awards—unless, of course, they’re top-tier honours), Coetzee would rile on about the social inequalities about the Apartheid regime, especially in relation to its art.
South African literature is a literature in bondage. It is a less than fully human literature. It is exactly the kind of literature you would expect people to write from prison.
Coetzee publicly called for an end to Apartheid. Remember: this is a man who grew up in a safe, nearly all white community, which was provided by the policy of Apartheid. This is a man who fled South Africa’s political turmoil when it might have affected him. Living a life of luxury, living in a community protected by people whom he implied were less than human, Coetzee pushed hard to end Apartheid.
Though not the sole proponent of anti-Apartheid, and certainly not the most important member of the movement, Coetzee’s wish finally came true in 1994. Apartheid, under intense international and local pressure, was ended.
And the crime wave began.
South Africans of all ethnicities came under attack as the stern fist of Apartheid was swept from the land. A terrorist who had signed off on bombings which had killed dozens of people was put in charge, and his thuggish party, openly espousing murderous racial hate, brought in a corrupt regime which to this day continues to expand the gulf between the rich and the poor of all ethnicities in South Africa. Black, Indian, white—for all these people, violence is a very real possibility.
Coetzee does what he does best
So, Coetzee had finally gotten his wish, and the bondage in South Africa had been lifted. Now it was time for Coetzee to enjoy the fruits of his labours, right? After all, this was exactly what he wanted. He was a moral crusader—nay! He was a liberator! A paragon of human rights! This was a victory for not only him, nor just for South Africa, but for the world!
Yet it turns out that the newly unleashed violent elements of South Africa didn’t quite agree with Coetzee’s ego. They liberally targeted all peoples, the blacks, the whites—even the good whites, like Coetzee and his friends. Coetzee’s final book as a citizen of South Africa was Disgrace (1999), which features an assault on a white man and a white woman being raped pregnant by some black men. Though very popular with the moralist crowd, several black South African politicians were angered and publicly denounced Coetzee.
They needn’t have worried though; Coetzee is a man lacking all moral and ethical fibre. Shortly after Apartheid ended, and his fellow citizens were being subjected to cruelties beyond imagining, Coetzee went house shopping. And by house shopping, I mean he went looking for another country. In 2002, a short 8 years after Apartheid had ended, Coetzee fled to Australia, abandoning post-Apartheid South Africa to its fate. Coetzee gave an incredibly pathetic excuse for doing so:
I did not so much leave South Africa, a country with which I retain strong emotional ties, but come to Australia. I came because from the time of my first visit in 1991, I was attracted by the free and generous spirit of the people, by the beauty of the land itself and – when I first saw Adelaide – by the grace of the city that I now have the honour of calling my home.
Yes, Coetzee didn’t “abandon” South Africa. He just…came, to somewhere else; even though he initially admitted he fled because of the waxing crime rate. It’s amazing that so many people can say with a straight face that Coetzee is one of the premier authors writing today.
Of course the truth of the matter was that Coetzee fled South Africa because of the crime. He wanted to tear down a system which—while admittedly oppressive toward one specific group—kept a semblance of peace amongst all the races in South Africa. Once it was torn down and it was time to rebuild, and it was time for Coetzee’s to put his money where his mouth was and actually do something besides criticize, guilt, and moralize, when he finally got to live in the exact type of society he so virulently professed to wanting to live in, he fled like the coward he is to another country…one which just so happened to be predominantly white. I thought Coetzee was alienated by whites? He professed to feeling a spiritual connection to some Indians. Why not move to India?
No, it was to the white country of Australia that this holier-than-thou man fled, and the next year to award Coetzee for all his moral crusading they gave him the 2003 Nobel Peace Prize in Literature (citing his place of residence as South Africa instead of Australia where it actually was). Since it was so prestigious, Coetzee actually showed up in Stockholm to collect his prize. Instead of a speech he read from Robinson Crusoe.
A hypocrite as old as time
So now, while many South Africans live in constant fear, facing perpetual violence, J.M. Coetzee is sunning himself in the vastly more peaceful continent of Australia. He’s still writing.
It’s funny how consistent these types are with their hypocrisy. People like Coetzee, and modern leftists and social justice warriors and anti-racists and all these other so called humanists and moral crusaders endlessly spew about the injustices of the world, and how we need to tear down the barriers and throw away the system and start afresh…yet they’re almost always amongst the first ones to flee once those very barriers are taken down and it’s time to get dirty and start the rebuilding.
You see it amongst the democrats in the United States, who vote in slick politicians parroting their democratic ideals—then they flee the state when those ideals are enacted, only to repeat their same idiotic choices while looking down on the less enlightened. White people spouting anti-racist sentiments then moving out of their neighborhood the moment the first non-whites begin showing up is so common it’s a cliché.
I myself am a former Neo-Nazi, and yet I have more brown, black, Asian and [insert race here] friends than the most fervent anti-racist I know, who is a suburban white girl who hasn’t even so much as taken a poking from a penis that wasn’t snow white yet once railed for damn near two hours about the lack of diversity in our university dorm. She’s currently engaged to a white guy and lives in a lily white town of about 3,000 people in rural Canada.
We need to stop tolerating people like Coetzee and all these other goddamn moralizers, because it’s going to be the common people that pay for their self righteousness. When the going gets tough, rich, privileged scum-bags like Coetzee have no problem financially or ethnically about fleeing to greener pastures, and leaving behind their poorer and nobler peers to clean up after them.
It’s time to stop caring about what Coetzee and all the people like him have to say. Because I can guarantee you, at the end of the day, whatever your race, they sure as hell do not care about you. They see all of us as nothing more than pawns to feed their egos. Let them starve.