My 'prophetic soul' long foresaw the shadow that advertisements would cast over the beloved land.
This was written in the sunny days of the rule of Msholozi.
Heart Of Darkness
Call me Deep Throat.
I am an advertising man. The courage and dogged determination of our former public protector inspired me to come out of the closet (which was darned uncomfortable anyway) and to move into a flat in hillbrow.
I intend to do my part in ripping the veil off the pitted face of our Nation's history. A wise man, the mention of whose name modesty forbids (to quote another wise man) once said: 'those who do not learn the lessons of History are doomed to repeat matric'.
Our story unfolds during the dark days of total response to the total onslaught. If you are too young to know the history of such much-loved institutions as the Tricameral Parliament, please Google.
It was in the very midnight of that dark and desperate time that I was visited by a pinstriped executive from a well-known manufacturer of washing powder, accompanied by two similarly attired gentlemen. Anxiety was etched upon their well-fed faces. I need to digress here. There was a time when black people appeared in advertisements only as smiling doormen or cleaners. You may think the change was evolutionary. This is how it really happened.
In his best Oxford accent, the pinstriped gentleman addressed me.
'Jong', he said.'This whiter-than-white thing is not working.
'Simple', I replied. 'instead of your lady saying: look at these gravy stains, have her saying: look at these kota stains / quantum imprints / stab wound stains. This will speak to your emerging market'.
'Jolly super', he exclaimed, slapping his thigh and one of the flunkies.
They left with tears of gratitude coursing down their plump cheeks. A New Era in South African advertising was born.
Similarly, I advised an executive from a building society (now defunct, I think).
'Keep your jingle', I said. 'But instead of a house in the suburbs, show a portly, toe-tapping shebeen king outside his brand-new four roomed shebeen, singing:
Ain't it nice
I got it with my slice.
In the background smiling delivery men do a soft shoe shuffle while neighbours applaud'.
VW produced a memorable advert in those days and that too plays a part about in this tale. The jingle, sung by cheerful employees went along these lines:
VW and me
We all believe in quality
We're your kind of people in the Volkswagen family.
Here's how that came to be. VW will of course deny this.
Pik Botha, then foreign minister (and looking very foreign too, in a large overcoat and fur hat), visited me in the very witching hour. In the portentous sounding voice he normally reserved for UN debates, he said without preamble:
'The winds Of Change are blowing'.
'Indeed they are', I replied, pulling my coat tighter around me and closing a window.
'We need something to unite our people', he said.
'Nationalist voters?'
'No, all South Africans'.
'How about universal franchise?'
'Yes, yes', he said. 'Eventually. But right now we need an inspirational song - one we can all relate to.
'Picture this', I said. 'The camera on you, Pik, in the midst of heated debate. Suddenly you pause and in a deep baritone launch into song.
PW and me
We all believe in equality
Cut to Alan Hendrickse frolicking in the whites - only ocean, inKosi Buthelezi fulminating against sabre-rattling, PW raising a warning forefinger. All join in with:
We are the manne
Then cut to all three Houses, where MPs with shining, upturned faces take on the rousing tune.
PW and me
We all believe in equality
We're your kind of people in the Volk
MP's, cabinet ministers, staff and visitors spill out onto the ample lawns Doves and balloons are released. Cheers and top hats fill the air. A plane flies low overhead, with a giant banner proclaiming South Africa / Suid Afrika.
Fade to Black.
There was a stunned silence.
'Jislaaik', said Pik, his eyes glowing with excitement, or it might have been the strong coffee he had had earlier.
Alas, this is a tale of opportunity lost, of impotence at the very foot of Fortune's luxurious double bed. Craven cowardice won the day and an insipid song call Louis' Liedjie was used instead. It sank faster than the Titanic and with fewer traces. Disgusted, I offered the jingle to a car company. I am still awaiting the promised people's car that was to have been my reward. (I would have turned it down anyway as too extravagant a gift).
I am not bitter but prefer to drive Tata to this day.
Anyway let bygones be bygones.
At least we still have Msholozi.
That's the truth folks.
Yours in the quest for a transparent history.
Richard
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