We Three Kings bearing acute shoppers' stress

[A brilliantly funny Alan Coren piece stolen from The Times where it was first printed on Dec. 9, 1998. I've been e-mailing it to people every Christmas ever since.]

I stand, today, in great debt to Dr David Lewis. What about it, you cry, every man in the country stands in great debt to him, he is the brilliant psychologist who last week declared that all men risk instant heart attacks if they try to do any Christmas shopping — just walking past Selfridge's window induces male stress-levels normally recorded only when a Tornado pilot spots a missile in his mirror, or a copper finds himself staring down the sawn-off end of something unpredictable. So then, since Dr Lewis has told all the nation's wives that if they don't want to become all the nation's widows they must tuck up all the nation's husbands in front of a roaring fire with a magnum of claret and a pile of ham sandwiches, no crusts, while they themselves rush about accumulating the yuletide gubbins, what makes my debt so special?

What makes it so special is that Dr Lewis has done not only all this for all men, but also, for me, solved a 2,000-year-old riddle. The solution is contained in a sidebar to his report, stating that when men actually steel themselves to do Christmas shopping, they do it, in order to reduce their agitation, at the last minute, buying the first thing they see. Which, at last, sheds all the light we scholars have hitherto sought on the mysterious case of the Three Kings of Orientar and the bizarre gifts they carried with them to Bethlehem.

I realise, of course, that for non-scholars among you the location of Orientar is itself a mystery which has annually nagged at you down the long carolling years, but we dabber hands at exegesis are now firmly convinced that Orientar is a rhyme-enforced abbreviation of Orient'R'Us, a supermarket-chain specialising in everything from brass gongs and Kaftans to spice-racks and hookahs, and very probably — such has been the rigorous nature of our scholarship — cognate with the Aladdin's cave featured in the Christmas panto, which, you'll recall, if it supplies a gift you don't like, for example a lamp, will be happy to exchange it.

Just the sort of portmanteau establishment to appeal to frantic last-minute male shoppers stuck with the problem of gifts for a faraway family of which they knew little. Oh, sure, they would have begun, like us, by coming up with lots of imaginative possibilities: they would have sat down, weeks before, with a papyrus pad and a nice sharp quill, and, Caspar having pointed out that Joseph was a carpenter, Melchior and Balthazar would doubtless have agreed that a state-of-the-art toolbox was just the job, or a fabulous multipurpose drill, possibly a folding workbench, jot that down, now what about Mary, lingerie is always a winner, you can't go wrong with a nightie, or perhaps a peignoir, perfect, she'll have the baby by then of course, a wide choice there, romper-suits, mobiles, bouncer, pull-along duck . . .

The list complete, they gird their loins, and pop down to the shops. But lo! there are windows full of 87 different sorts of toolbox and 23 assorted folding workbenches, there are lingerie emporia with 1001 nighties, which material, which colour, what's her size, you go in, no you, why me, what do I know about women's thingies, let's get the baby's present first, blimey, look at that, the place is packed, there must be a million screaming kids in there, I feel dizzy, Caspar, my heart's going like the clappers, Melchior, I have come out in a muck sweat, Balthazar, tell you what, why don't we sit down somewhere, have a drink, two possibly, it is no good rushing these things, we could do ourselves a mischief, we'll just sort ourselves out and come back later when it's not so busy, yes, I'm up for that, me too, call a camel!

So, do they go back? Of course they don't. On the way home, they pass their local branch of Orient'R'Us, oh look, spot on, we can get everything we want here, so in they run. And while they find, of course, no power tools, no nighties, no toys, there is gold, always an acceptable gift, Caspar, and frankincense, can't go wrong with female fragrances, Melchior, and what's that box next to it, the label says myrrh, what's myrrh when it's at home, Balthazar, who cares, what does it matter, he's only a kid.

Copyright © 1998 Times Newspapers Ltd.

This photo might have been taken on almost any Saturday from 1986 to 1989. The cop in front of the South African Embassy has come up with some petty quibble about the picket, most likely the volume of the megaphone. Steven Kitson is adroitly holding his ground. And the comrade in between clearly doesn't believe the cop is winning the argument.

There must have been hundreds of photos like this. Most would have remained undeveloped unless a prosecution was in the offing. Any kind of confrontation on the picket was the cue for evidence gathering: photos, recordings, notes and witnesses' contact details. Such standing operating procedures were essential to City of London Anti-Apartheid Group's incredible acquittal rate in the courts when a politicized police force attempted to make the Mandela picket go away.

Steven was only 40 when he died of cancer on Nov. 12, 1997.

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RELATED LINKS:

David Kitson's obituary [FRFI]
David Kitson and me
David Kitson's obituary
Steven Kitson
Pie in the sky
Norma’s Obituary [FRFI]
Norma’s Obituary [Guardian]
Norma Kitson [Photo]
Where Sixpence Lives

Steven Kitson
[A letter published in the Weekly Worker #229 Thursday, Feb. 26 1998 and reproduced here without permission.]

Thank you for your condolences on the death of our son Steven, who died of cancer at the age of 40.
When he was 9 years old and Verwoed was assassinated, he was beaten up by boys in his school, because 'his father was a communist'. My family was continually harassed by the security police while I was in jail and in 1968 came to England, where he grew up.
He started coming to visit me in jail in South Africa when he was 13. He visited me every year until he was 25, when he was arrested and detained by the security police, who accused him of being an ANC courier. Such was the outcry in Britain that they had to release him after six days and he was deported, being prohibited from visiting me again. While he was flying back to Britain his aunt, Joan Weinberg, was murdered in an act of spite. Then he became very active politically indeed.
Last week I visited Johannesburg. I took the opportunity to visit the national offices of the South African Communist Party and renewed my party card. It is a lousy party, but it is the only one we've got. In particular it is compromised by participating in a government which represents the interests of the bourgeoisie. In fact the GNU exercises the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie rather than the interests of the working class.
However, I joined in 1940 and feel a gap if I am not paid up. Furthermore there is an inner-party struggle going on between the old and the new, so I have a feeling of hope.
David Kitson
Zimbabwe

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RELATED LINKS:

David Kitson and me
David Kitson's obituary
Steven Kitson: photo
Pie in the sky
Norma’s Obituary [FRFI]
Norma’s Obituary [Guardian]
Norma Kitson [Photo]
Where Sixpence Lives

Still Crazy After All These Years

BEYOND BEDLAM Ed. Ken Smith & Matthew Sweeney Anvil £7.95

The anthology is subtitled, "Poems written out of mental distress." Of course, it is disturbing.
Its publication was timed to coincide with the 750th anniversary of the original Bedlam (Bethlem Royal Hospital) where inmates used to be exhibited for the amusement of visiting gentry. As you pass along its passages you get more than a whiff of the suffering inflicted by mental illness and its institutions.

The cannon includes all the usual suspects: Lowell, Clare, Plath, Bunyan, Graves, Pound. Then you spot the name of a lesser-known writer you sat with in a pub after the poetry gig after the breakdown or the botched suicide.

Martin Brownlee's "On the Run from Tooting Bec Hospital" gives a taste of that moonlight flit up the Balham High Road made by many in their NHS pyjamas. Tooting's grim Victorian fortress was demolished in the 1980s and now so many "sleep in the park, just another dosser." as a result of government policy.

Richard McKane's translation of verses written more than 20 years ago in a Russian mental hospital, gives a reminder of the systematic repression that disintegrated into just as cruel a vacuum after the collapse of the Soviet infrastructure.

The editors' introduction tells us: "Poets are 30 times more likely to undergo a depressive illness than the rest of the population, and 20 times more likely to be committed to an asylum." And yet the project emerged from patients in the Bethlem and Maudsley Hospitals writing verse for therapeutic reasons.

Four mental health charities will benefit from its royalties

Pie in the sky
Weekly Worker 224 Thursday Jan. 22 1998

Although Jim Blackstock's article 'Winnie fills SACP vacuum' (December 4 1997) can be said to be 'better' than most being bandied around in the media, it contains hints and misinformation that I feel should not pass.

I presume it is felt by many that the 37 ANC members (including the president, Thabo Mbeki), having been amnestied by the Truth and Reconciliation Committee without having to state their crimes, are to be excused. After all, as Jim Blackstock says, they were fighting the struggle and I agree one cannot equate revolutionary violence with reactionary violence. But were they really?

In the 1970 and 80s, great respect was paid in Britain and in Europe generally to the chief representative of the ANC in London, Solly Smith (Samuel Khunene) and his sidekick, Dr Francis Meli. In 1990 Smith confessed - and implicated Meli - to having been spies for the South African apartheid regime. After his confession, Smith was made head of the ANC in the Orange Free State and a few months later both were found dead in hotel rooms in different towns.

In the 1980s the City of London Anti-Apartheid Group was being trashed by the ANC and AAM, as was David Kitson and myself. The membership of the London ANC was peculiarly obedient to these spies.

The British media also fulsomely followed the dictates of the spies. But there were many others: the British Anti-Apartheid Movement went to great lengths to assist the Boer agents. Ken Gill, leader of the union Tass, joined avidly in trying to rubbish the Kitsons and stopped David's funding at Ruskin College, having previously promised him a 'job for life' after his 20 years in jail as a member of the high command of Umkhonto we Sizwe.

Nothing further has been published about the spies, although PAC member Patricia de Lille tried to make some facts known in parliament recently. Her allegations have not, of course, been answered.

But back to Winnie Madikizela Mandela:

It has not been found in any court, nor at the TRC, that Winnie killed, beat or caused the killing or beating of anyone. She asked for an open hearing to clear her name.

Jim Blackstock says "numerous witnesses have implicated" her in the murder of Stompie and Dr Asvat. These witnesses were all self-confessed liars: even the 'unassailable' Albertina Sisulu, when called upon to confirm her act of signing a medical card - evidence which she had given previously a number of times - denied having done it. One 'witness' admitted being a police spy. One, Falati, gave as her reason for lying that it was 'traditional', and so on. Posing Cebekulu, Richardson, Falati and people like them - self-confessed criminals and liars - as witnesses to Winnie MM's 'crimes' is misleading your readership.

There have been campaigns against Winnie MM for many years, all of which have proved in and out of the courts to have been baseless. One after another, cases have been set up against her and then disproved. The one area where she was found guilty was in kidnapping.

In the UK and Europe there have been many cases where children have been removed from the care of child abusers. Only in South Africa, in the case of Winnie MM, has this been termed 'kidnapping'. Falati reported to her that these children were being abused and she removed them from Verryn's care, and she admitted that.

Judge Stegman found that when Stompie was murdered, Winnie MM was proved to be in Brandfort. This was corroborated by Mrs Sisulu at the TRC hearing when she denied signing the medical card with its altered date so crudely offered as evidence of Winnie MM's presence in Johannesburg on that day.

Did you know it was said at the time of his death that Dr Asvat was in a position to confirm that Stompie had been raped? That was the reason given then why he was murdered. Winnie MM could not have done that (or arranged it) because it would have been contrary to her interests. Through all the years Winnie MM has run crèches, provided venues and food for children. Her writings of the children of Soweto are profoundly loving. Also, Dr Asvat was a great friend of hers.

Jim Blackstock says Winnie MM's "revolutionism has drifted in the direction of reactionary populism" because she is alleged to have said she is in favour of restoration of the death penalty. Winnie denies she ever said that. Winnie MM has a huge constituency among the South African people. Dire moves were made to prevent her being elected deputy president of the ANC; but, despite all the media hype and hatred, she achieved 15th position out of 150 candidates in the voting stakes at the ANC conference in Mafikeng.

JB's final paragraph is actually laughable. Here we have a revolutionary leader, proved and tested in the struggle, leading from the front, and he is asking the "masses" to jack her and "unite their forces in order to reforge the SACP around an independent working class programme". Talk about pie in the sky! What SACP is he referring to? The Yusuf Dadoo one, who spent his time drinking himself under the table and whose followers (or leaders) were hand in hand with the confessed spies? Or the one led by Moses Mabidha who was not allowed to make decisions unless passed by Brian Bunting? The Slovo-led one which negotiated away the revolution? The one led by Jeremy Cronin that believes you can talk yourself into socialism and, hidden under the cloak of the ANC, is leading its capitalist policies? Or is something new suddenly going to jump out of the woodwork?

The umbrella of the ANC covers many good comrades. Let us hope they emerge, as Winnie has done, unsullied by the spies, the opportunists and the renegades.

Norma Kitson,
Zimbabwe

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RELATED LINKS:

David Kitson and me
David Kitson's obituary
Steven Kitson: photo
Steven Kitson
Norma’s Obituary [FRFI]
Norma’s Obituary [Guardian]
Norma Kitson [Photo]
Where Sixpence Lives