A Dozen Toms

The country has been busy these last days and weeks with the unedifying spectacle of Jacob Zuma’s slow prying loose from the carcase of the state he has so wounded and savaged – there will be a collective sigh of relief once he has gone, and not much sympathy, either, when he is finally hauled before the Commission of Enquiry into state capture, and hopefully, in due course, before the courts. Meanwhile the new man, Ramaphosa, has already begun to clean house, sweeping aside the old, corrupt Board at Eskom, wakening the long-dormant National Prosecuting Authority from its long slumber, putting the corrupt and venal, and the incompetent, on notice.

There is a hunger in this land for justice to be done, and the guilty to be exposed and punished. And before anyone rushes to say, but! we let off the criminals who enforced apartheid, let’s understand that we live in a democracy now, and we hold people to a different, and higher, standard. Nor are we in a perilous transition, from a cornered and dangerous regime – this is peacetime, folks, and what Zuma and his gang have perpetrated is not war but a mugging.

Meanwhile, for the rest of us, life goes on more or less as usual, while we wait for the other shoe to drop and Zuma to exit: life, love and family seem more important.

So here are a dozen Toms – images of my grandson, who is not only an entirely different kind of riot, but a wholly innocent heir to the future.