Joerie, joerie, botter en brood,
as ek jou kry, slaat ek jou dood

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

DIE VROUE HET HOM DIE EERSTE GEWAAR...

Stockholm Syndrome and White Genocide

Colin Liddell


Stockholm Syndrome is the psychological phenomenon whereby captives bond with their captors even to the point of sympathizing with and defending them. It is thought to have its roots in our hunter-gatherer past, where the experience of being forcibly co-opted into a new band of hunter-gatherers was a not uncommon occurrence.
Usually it is viewed as an individual psychological condition, affecting those individuals who are kidnapped or held hostage, such as the hostages in the 1973 botched robbery in Stockholm that gave the phenomenon its name, but there is no reason why it can’t be extended to much larger groups if they appear to demonstrate the behavior specified by the condition.
The phenomenon is thought to be more common among women than men, for obvious reasons, but it is unclear whether it has a racial aspect, although this seems likely. To date the most famous examples — Patty HearstJaycee Lee Dugard, etc. — have typically been young White women.
There is a certain rationale to Stockholm Syndrome. If a person is captured or abused in some way, and if he or she is essentially powerless to prevent this, then, the act of bonding with the captor or abuser will help to make an unbearable situation more psychologically bearable. It may also encourage the captor or abuser to be more sympathetic to the captive or abusee.
The Stockholm Syndrome also has its opposite, called the Lima Syndrome, in which the captors over-empathize with the captives. The most famous case involved the mainly Japanese hostages at the Japanese embassy in Lima, Peru, which was taken over in 1997 by the Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement. Under an impulse of sympathy the captors soon started to release most of the hostages, including the most valuable ones.
If we view South Africa’s Whites as de facto hostages or captives of the Black majority, to whom they foolishly gave away all their political power in the early 1990s, then it is clear that South Africa is not undergoing a Lima situation. Genocidal attacks on Whites continue, while the President and his political cronies continue to chant “Kill the Boer” at public gatherings. Racist employment and redistributionist policies continue to proliferate; even where Whites try to peacefully form their own communities, or just naturally cluster together, they are threatened.
Recently, the ludicrously-named Tokyo Sexwale, the Human Settlements Minister, who is in the process of dumping his White wife of 20 years for a younger Indian model, stated that predominantly White suburbs should be “deracialized” by granting Blacks  special loans to buy property there.
Every day it becomes clearer that White South Africans are living under an increasingly abusive system that aims ultimately at their extinction as a unique people and organic community. So, how are they reacting? Are they organizing? Are they developing solidarity? Are they fighting back?
On the available evidence, and with a few small exceptions, the answers are no, no, and no.
What makes this more remarkable is that we are talking here not about a historically slavish demographic, but about some of the toughest White people on the planet. There is no doubt that if South African Whites had the will they could seize control of the country tomorrow. So, what has happened to the proud Boers and even to the Anglophone Whites, who were always lukewarm supporters of Apartheid but who clearly don’t want to suffer the indignities that the Marxist-racist state has in store for them?
The only explanation is that Whites in South Africans are undergoing a collective Stockholm Syndrome, identifying with their abusers, sympathizing with their oppressors, in an attempt to make an unbearable situation slightly more bearable. (It might well be worth exploring in what strain of South Africa’s diverse European population this collective Stockholm Syndrome first appeared, as it may well have roots stretching back to earlier times and different places. In this context, the experience of South Africa’s Jews would be of particular interest.)
But whether Jew or non-Jew, in modern day South Africa, all Whites are viewed the same by Blacks, and their shared experience is one of gradually increasing humiliation. The other day the Minister of International Relations and Cooperation, Ms. Maite Nkoana-Mashabane expressed deep concern over ethnically motivated killings in South Africa. Of course, she was not talking about Whites, who are being butchered and mutilated in their thousands, despite living lives dominated by security precautions. She was instead referring to a few Somalis who had been lynched by mobs of South African Blacks with their usual brutality.
Such humiliations are a direct threat to the ego of every White South African. Against such an attack there are a number of possible responses: (1) a silent resolve to resist and fight back, (2) a decision to flee, (3) pure and simple denial, and (4) an urge to identify with the powers that be, and to latch on to any crumbs of comfort. In the case of Nkoana-Mashabane’s statement these crumbs are not even being dispensed to Whites, but to another race regarded by the majority as outsiders.
This urge to identify and latch on to crumbs of comfort is how the “useful idiots” in the White community, who are still allowed some prominence in the media, greet such statements. But, as if to slap them in the face again, Nkoana-Mashabane made sure her statement included a reference to Apartheid and pan-African unity:
We recall the support and solidarity accorded to us during our fight against apartheid by African people, including Somalis, and wish to express our sincere gratitude. As South Africa, we value our close relations with our neighbours and the rest of the African Continent.
As I said above, there is a certain rationale to the Stockholm Syndrome. In our micro-political prehistoric past, when individuals were captured, enslaved or subdued, it was almost always by groups of similar racial and even ethnic backgrounds. Under such circumstances, showing a certain amount of empathy to the powerful would, given time, elicit a degree of sympathy or forbearance in return, leading ultimately to a more normalized relationship. But hoping for something similar in South Africa is an obvious absurdity as Black Africans show little tendency towards anything even resembling a Lima Syndrome as demonstrated by their brutality even towards other Africans.
As long as Whites are White they will be hated. Only by breeding into the greater population — by which is largely meant White women breeding with African males like the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Sexwale — and by becoming a tiny unrecognizable strain in the Black races of South Africa will the hatred of Whites stop.
If White South Africans are to survive they will have to break the spell of the collective Stockholm Syndrome they have been living under for the last twenty years and find some way to resist.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

CORPORATE JEALOUSY

WHY  IS DISINVESTING


FROM SOUTH AFRICA?


BECAUSE ONLY 

 







WAS ALLOWED 

TO ADVERTISE AT THE FUNERAL:


Monday, December 16, 2013

EK IS NIE HIER OM DIE KAALGATKEISER TE PRYS NIE...

Om wanaangepas te wees in ’n abnormale wêreld is nie ’n skande nie, dis ’n prestasie.

In ’n Skypegesprek met my broer Chris so ’n week-of-twee gelede, vertel hy my dat hy in kommentaar van eneTrippie Trip by ’n artikel op Praag, so ’n tien dae vóór Mandela se “dood”, gelees het dat alle lugmagpersoneellede se verlof vir die begin van Desembermaand gekanselleer is asook die lugskou by die Waterkloof lugmagbasis in dieselfde tydperk.

Aangesien ek en Ingrid in elk geval van sy laaste hospitalisasie en “ontslag” af ’n haas onweerlegbare vermoede had dat die outa tóé al lepel in die dak gesteek het, wou ek dit graag bevestig met die kommentaar van Trippie Trip, maar ek kon dit nie met bekwame spoed opspoor nie.
Na aanleiding van die GLG (Groot LugmagGeneraal) se onlangse e-possie op Pearsonarium 

From: N…..<……g@intekom.co.za>
Date: 2013/11/27
Subject: Groete
To: pearsonarium@googlegroups.com

Hallo almal,

Baie dankie vir die nuusbrief Susan

Hoop als gaan goed met almal.  Hier word daar gepak vir ‘n vale aangesien ons Vrydag trek na my aftree plekkie net buite Graaff Reinet.  Die afgelope paar weke was baie rof met huis vekoop, aanbouings 1000km ver van my en trek reël.  Vlg week dv is dit uitpak en inburger en dan voorberei vir reis Engeland toe om 1ste kleinkind se geboorte by te woon (of kort daarna).  Dan is dit terug Pta toe om Januarie nog te werk.

Ek sal van more af so tydjie van lyn af wees.

Baie groete en Geseënde Kersfees en voorspoed vir 2014.”

... dag ek toe dat daar niemand beter is om Trippie Trip se kommentaar te bevestig nie en rig die volgende e-pos aan die GLG:

“From: Petrus Potgieter <potgieter.petrus@gmail.com>
Date: 2013/12/8

Subject: Re: Groete
To: pearsonarium@googlegroups.com

N….., ek lei af dat jou verlof nie gekanselleer is soos die ander lugmagpersoneellede s'n nie - dis nou met die oog op die dood van die ou-ta...; seker maar omdat jy  met pensioen gaan.” 

Intussen ontlok Trippie Trip se kommentaar die volgende beryming van Chris wat hy op die internet publiseer en onverwagte kritiek ontlok:

Sit dit af!
(Alternatiewelik: Elders ontplooi.)

So het dit die here behaag
hoewel aanvanklik maar stadig en traag
- hulle wat elke kader se kom en gaan bepaal
totdat Jesus almal eendag weer op die wolke kom haal -
na diepe drink, lange beraad en lekgotla
terwyl hul wag vir die aanloopbaan in Mthathwa
en hoor die teerpad na Qunu is voltooi
heeltemal gereed vir die stoet en konvooi
kon hulle gerieflik reeds voor die einde van November
onverwags Waterkloof se lugskou in Desember
saam met alle lumagpersoneel se verlof afgelas
en terwyl almal Donderdag vir sy première in teaters was
skink hulle nog ‘n laaste blue label ten besluit
trek toe maar die kragprop uit
sodat die kameras en drukperse kan rol
met vooraf geblikte huldeblyke oorvol
ja, die mense se ikoon van vrede word begrawe op die vyftiende,
so het hul vasbesluit, nie Versoeningsdag die sestiende
klaar gechoreografeer met ‘n ANC dompas
alles oor en uit, soos wat hul agenda was.

© Kopiereg voorbehou

Die GLG kap my steeds ’n ignore, maar die Peasonariumlid vir Skelmbos lig my erg gevat soos volg in:

From: …. .ouch.. <…..ouch..@telkomsa.net>

Date: 2013/12/13
Subject: Re: Groete
To: pearsonarium@googlegroups.com

Petrus, The Opposition to Urban Tolling Alliance is nog lank nie dood nie. Ek neem aan dis waarna jy in jou skrywe aan N….. verwys. Of is dit jou siek siening van ons geliefde Madiba? Jy behoort jou te skaam”…

...wat die agbare lid vir Maoriland beaam met ’n verbeeldingryke:

“From: …… …toe <……_...toe@msn.com>
Date: 2013/12/13
Subject: RE: Groete
To: "pearsonarium@googlegroups.com" <pearsonarium@googlegroups.com>

Ditto.”

Dit was natuurlik genoeg om my te laat besef dat my siening haaks staan op die gangbare houding en aangesien die hoofstroommedia die werke van hulle hande nie sonder meer sou laat vaar nie en g’n mens dus sou kon ontsnap aan die volvloerdekking van die sirkus in die media nie, het ek die infomaak uitgebreid op BBC1 gevolg, onder andere ook om te sien of ek die GLG in die voorste gestoeltes saam met die bojaanworse sien.

Aangesien ek die oorlede hoofdrolspeler nooit persoonlik ontmoet en geken het nie en hom nié uitsluitlik op sy vroeëre misdade wou beoordeel nie, het ek, in funksie van die ou Afrikaanse uitdrukking “Aan jou vriende word jy geken “, tot die gevolgtrekking  gekom dat die Vader des Volks nie regtig so kosher soos Moses is nie

Aan die (voorlopige) einde van BBC1 se uitsending van die pistakel, het een van die verslaggewers die stelling gemaak dat ”… SouthAfrica will have to do some soul searching about Mandela’s legacy…”, wat my ook tot ’n bietjie introspeksie gelei het:
wanneer ek al die skyn-heiliges en glans-ape voor my geestesoog laat verbytrek, dan kan ek net gril van walging en afsku – van ou vet Oprah & Branson, oor die Groot Hoer van perfide Albion se werpsel,Charles, tot die bedrieglike beule Bliar & Bush en die huidige inbesetene van die witgekalkte longdrop van Amerika – voorwaar, voorwaar ek sê vir julle: niegene wat ek in my vriendekring wil tel nie; dan sit ek liewer in die kring van die spotters …

The day the angels cried

They came from countries far and wide, to pay their last respect,
And upon the life of Nelson Mandela they would all reflect.
A terrorist cum freedom fighter, who had certainly done the crime;
Arrested, tried and convicted; imprisoned, he had done the time.
Never before witnessed such a gathering of vagabonds and thieves,
All with masked faces whilst being told “A mourning nation grieves”.
Never before have more heinous warmongers gathered under one roof,
Check the official list of dignitaries, should you require more proof.

The world had come to say good-bye to Mandela who had died,
But the rain that fell that day were from Angels as they cried,
Angels crying not for Mandela, nor for his ‘grieving family’
But for a world where most shall be…in Hell for all eternity.
Written by Alf HutchisonAuthor of ‘Sounds of Distant Drums”

In alle eerlikheid moet ek bely dat ek met my houtoog en plankbril één enkeling gespaai het wat haar deurgaans met waardigheid & grasie gedra het: Graça Machel.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

AS ONS NIE MET MEKAAR KAN PRATIE, DAN SING ONS SAAM

Bergstraat 14, Hanover
(vir Ouma)

onder die klavierklip by die fontein aan Trappieskop se voet
waar die haan van verraad op sy pos op die kerktoring waak
oor die weë van dorp, merino en meent in droogtetyd en vloed
kom nou meestal net rooivalkies van Kazakstan terug vir nesmaak
in hoë denne by wawielspore gesement, gaan min nog verby in stoet
na langboompies of gedenksteen aan Kakie-vergryp en boeresaak

daar het ek gesluip in middagdonker deur karoohuis se gang
waar bangmaakrame met Bloedrivier en ingekleurde fotos
hoog aan dik kleimure se outydse prentelyste donker hang
van voorgeslagte in die Statebybel wat almal lankal dood is
en my takseer en my sagte kaal voete met ‘n hout oog vang

wanneer ek saggies probeer lig trap om die fyn draai
oor wiegende vloerplank, by die spens verby deur eetkamer
met tafeldoek en eetgerei wat silwer ruik in die ou laai
verby koningstoel en koekoekklok wat non-stop hamer
my agtervolg tot in die warme kombuis met sy getik-tak
waar die nagloed en geur van kookkos en gasstoof
onder fyn bloublommetjiesnet en vadoeke vasgehaak,
soos Ouma se psalmsange, nog saggies die Here loof

hoe maak ‘n mens tog ‘n dubbeldeur toe sonder om te klap?
veral as die warm plaveiklippe onder jou voete brand
en jy vinnig wil wegswenk sonder om in ‘n bedding te trap
verby die kiss-me-quick-over-the-garden-gate al om die rand
met varings by die klam tenk en stokrose met taai trane
eindelik óm die wingerd binne in die koel beloofde land
‘n Kaleb, tussen kristal trosse en lowerdak van perskeboomblare
bewonder die tekstuur van leivoorkors se effens klam en fyn sand

die oordadige soet vrugtegeur styg soos sonbesie op in my klere
maar skielik dan: die buurman se hoenderhaan se onverwagte kraai
laat my middeldag wipskrik en soos ‘n aandklok ruglangs bewe
was dit die eerste omen, van verraad in ons paradys, om die draai
of was daar al ander tekens uit die wakis soos skrif aan die muur
om te waarsku van langmesse, verder trek en ‘n donkerder uur?


     © Kopiereg  voorbehou

van berg tot bergaf

wanneer ek die luike van my vensters sluit
en my blik op die binnewêreld rig
verdwyn alle afstand tussen Trappieskop
en die hange van ou Tafelberg in laaste lig:
die tone van die klavierklip by sy fontein
word die note wat gehoor word as die son ophou skyn
en deur al die lewens van kinderkersverlof
verwonder ek my steeds oor motors onhoorbaar stil
op die grondpad na De Aar se stof
en net ’n hanetreetjie daarvandaan
ná die donker gang en altaartafel vir die avondmaal
deur die spens met pastel wat kaats van elk bokaal
kraak die stilte van die middagrus
en die voortjie in ’n koelglad badkamervloer
vertel die storie van ’n ander stal
terwyl die tortels buite, eentonig in die hitte koer
met die rooikopergeiser wat trots soos ’n stookketel
op geverfde voetstuk setel
ek onthou g’n strome van seën van bowe
al het Ouma die Heiland hoe getrou gelowe
maar aan die oorkant van die straat langs die sendingpastorie
het ’n aantal oue Denne soos fiskale oor die leivoor gewaak
en uit hul skurwe stam se bas kon kinders bootjies maak
vir vér verkenningstogte: ontdekkers wyd en syd
had hul oorsprong en hul wortels
in Taaibosspruit se ruimte en se tyd
wanneer Somersonnewende
tradisie- en gewoontetrou herdenk word-
klein seuntjies met skurwe voete vol verwagting
en spanning Kersvaders wederkoms belewe
met hande en onderlippies wat bewe
tot op ’n dag dat ongevraag
die kindsgeloof ontnugter word:
ouma was die streng ou man met baard en sak!
is God ook net ’n poets gebak?

OOR VEITE EN FERDIGSEL...

Sit dit af!

(Alternatiewelik: Elders ontplooi.)

So het dit die here behaag
hoewel aanvanklik maar stadig en traag
- hulle wat elke kader se kom en gaan bepaal
totdat Jesus almal eendag weer op die wolke kom haal -
na diepe drink, lange beraad en lekgotla
terwyl hul wag vir die aanloopbaan in Mthathwa
en hoor die teerpad na Qunu is voltooi
heeltemal gereed vir die stoet en konvooi
kon hulle gerieflik reeds voor die einde van November
onverwags Waterkloof se lugskou in Desember
saam met alle lumagpersoneel se verlof afgelas
en terwyl almal Donderdag vir sy première in teaters was
skink hulle nog ‘n laaste blue label ten besluit
trek toe maar die kragprop uit
sodat die kameras en drukperse kan rol
met vooraf geblikte huldeblyke oorvol
ja, die mense se ikoon van vrede word begrawe op die vyftiende,
so het hul vasbesluit, nie Versoeningsdag die sestiende
klaar gechoreografeer met ‘n ANC dompas
alles oor en uit, soos wat hul agenda was.

[Christiaan Potgieter]


© Kopiereg voorbehou





    maar die vroue het gevlug
and the women fled
met lang geskreeu in die hutte terug
with long screams back to their huts
en die agterste hoeke, en heelnag die wraak
in the furthest corners, and spent the night
van Raka en Raka se donker waak
listening to Raka’s revenge and dreadful wake
in die kraal verneem; sy snork, sy draf,
as he crossed the kraal, running and sniffing,
en die skreeu van ’n vrou se pyn skielik, die blaf
and they heard women crying out in pain,
van ’n vasgekeerde hond, kort en benoud…
and the short, sharp barking of the tethered dogs…
en daar waar Koki se liggaam koud
and when Raka found where Koki lay,
en stil in die gras was, die harder gebrul
cold and still among the grass,
van die nuwe woede, wat die hutte vul,
new rage fuelled his howling
en die breek en die skeur.
with the sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh.
                                               In die môre vroeg
And when morning came
het hy naby die hek gele, slu, en moeg
they found him lying at the gate, sly and tired
maar waaksaam; en opgestaan later
but watchful; and when the day was warm he rose
toe dit warm word, en uit die potte die water
to drink from the water pots before returning
gedrink en weer by die hek gaan wag;
to guard the gate; and after that fearful night
en ná die dag se hitte en die lang nag
and long hot day, hunger and thirst,
en die skrik, het honger en dors, dié twee,
the two slave drivers, drove the people out
die slawedrywers, hulle maar gedwee
in search of food and water; and Raka
en sku om water en om kos laat gaan;
let them go and then went off to hunt nearby;
en Raka, die skelm dier, het opgestaan

en hulle laat loop, en self náby gaan jag;
but no one dared to slam the narrow gate
maar niemand het gewaag om met een slag

die smal hek ooit weer teen hom te sluit.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N._P._van_Wyk_Louw