Jackup Zooma

Jackup Zooma

Amock unscrewed the top and poured the first round. It was Sunday afternoon, and our task was a powerful bottle of Klipdrift brandy.

‘Well,’ said Jennifer, as she took her first sip, ‘what’s been happening in the world that’s worthy of our attention?’

‘There’s Jackup Zooma,’ said Sara. ‘He’s just had to pay damages to another young girl.’

‘What’s he paying damages for?’ I laughed. ‘Did he break the bed?’

‘He broke all his promises to the people of Azania,’ said Sara sternly. ‘Its very embarrassing to have a president caught with his trousers down.’

‘He’s reputed to have the fastest zip south of the Sahara,’ I smirked. ‘His nation must be very proud of him, he’s a sexual athlete of Olympian proportions.’

‘Rather than giving him a gold medal for sexual athletics, he should be given a brass gong for hypocrisy,’ said Sara. ‘His government’s HIV policy is that everyone should stick to one sexual partner …’

‘He sticks to them one at a time,’ laughed Amock.

‘… and also should use a condom,’ persisted Sara.

‘He can’t find one big enough,’ Amock chuckled.

‘What he does for recreation is his business,’ I said, ‘so long as he doesn’t do it in parliament and frighten the speaker.’

‘That’s not true.’ laughed Amock, ‘The private behaviour of the president is always a matter of public interest. But what Sara has overlooked is that the public love to see their president enjoying himself. He is their representative, enjoying life on their behalf. He becomes their superstar, indulging himself in all the expensive and illicit pleasures that ordinary people cannot afford.’

‘The people will get angry, and kick him out!’ exclaimed Sara.

‘That’s not the way it works,’ explained Amock. ‘People experience vicarious pleasure at seeing the lustful, greedy and gluttonous behaviour of the ruling elite. They enjoy, at second hand, the marvellous spectacle of sumptuous degradation.’

‘Like the Roman mob cheering the disgusting excesses of the Emperor Caligula,’ sneered Sara.

‘Exactly,’ said Amock. ‘Our presidents behave like kings. When the king grabs a man’s wife, the man does not protest, but praises the king for his good taste, and hopes to be appointed as an induna now that he has joined the royal family.’

‘How you stretch the facts to fit your theory,’ scoffed Jennifer, as she took another sip of brandy. ‘The behaviour of Jackup Zooma is best understood as African democracy rather than decadent aristocracy. When Jackup was told that a democratic politician must have a close relationship with his people, he immediately saw how to make good use of his special talent.’

‘So that every woman would have the opportunity of a relationship with the president?’

‘Exactly,’ replied Jennifer. ‘Equality of opportunity is the basic principle of democracy. Similarly, all men should have equal opportunity to surrender their wives and daughters to the president, just as they should have equal opportunity to marry the president’s daughters and granddaughters…’

‘Of which there must be thousands,’ suggested Amock.

‘Of course,’ said Jennifer. ‘In a democracy a leader must provide services to his people. In Azania, this means the president’s duty is to provide sexual services to all of his people, so that, as time goes on, all citizens become his children. This is why he is known as the father of the nation.’

‘Thus getting rid of tribalism,’ said Amock.

‘Exactly,’ said Jennifer. ‘The official policy of presidential philandering enables the entire nation to become one family. It also ensures that the president is always re-elected, by his own children.’

But now Sara growled, and took another gulp of brandy. ‘All this talk of African democracy is nonsense,’ she declared. ‘Jackup is a clear example of African phallocracy.’

‘Phallocracy?’

‘Women are ruled by the male members.’

‘The male members?’

‘The male members,’ she emphasised, holding the brandy bottle in the air. ‘Men retain their power in government by their dominance in the bedroom. Male sexual power keeps women pregnant or in the nursery.’

‘Huh,’ said Amock, as he reclaimed the bottle and poured another round. ‘What a mighty theory just to explain naughty old Jackup putting it about a bit!’

‘Don’t you see?’ said Sara. ‘In the phallocratic state of Azania, Jackup is the alpha male. He has the job of representing male political power by demonstrating sexual dominance over his harem of subordinated women. The hidden slaves of the harem exist not merely for his private and domestic pleasure, but also to ensure their exclusion from public life.’

‘So women cannot enter politics?’

‘In phallocratic politics, women can serve only as handmaidens or concubines.’

‘Can’t she escape from the harem?’

‘If she does that,’ said Sara grimly, ‘then she has no supervising male, and is immediately recognised as a threat to phallocracy. If an independent woman dares to venture into politics she faces the public humiliation of gang rape by members of the Male Marauding Defilers.’

‘She must feel the power of the male members,’ I suggested.

‘So political power is like an aphrodisiac, stronger than Viagra,’ suggested Jennifer, ‘enabling male leaders to stand proud and tall.’

‘Yes,’ said Sara, as she laid the empty brandy bottle flat on the table. ‘But take the power out of them, and they become empty, flat and useless.’