MK parliamentarians are hiding in plain sight

Jacob Zuma, our homegrown wannabe Jonas Savimbi, ordered his party’s parliamentarians to wear camouflage uniforms when reporting for duty last week.

They disappeared briefly while shambling past the hedges.

I think it’s a great look. Better than JuJu’s dwindling band of not-so-merry men and women.

For their uniforms, the increasingly isolated commander-in-chief chose a colour representing warmth and sexuality.

There’s a reason Hallmark uses so much red on their cards. Red is also the colour of blood, which works very well now that the EFF is bleeding support from the gaping exit wound left when the quisling Floyd clawed his way out under cover of darkness.

On the other hand, camouflage represents all manner of non-romantic things, not least a convenient way of hiding stubborn wine stains.

It also serves as a valuable tool to avoid detection by enemy forces, such as the chairs of portfolio committees.

“We were there, comrade. You just didn’t see us.”

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Camouflage was developed for military use by the French in 1915, setting a proud tradition of avoiding conflict at all costs.

One of the techniques of camouflage include the placement of lifelike dummies in strategic positions, hence the deployment to parliament of the likes of Jimmy Manyi and #1 daughter, Duduzile.

In a military context, the primary function of camouflage is to deceive the human eye. In the context of Jacob Zuma, it’s to deceive the human brain.

Never underestimate the power of artifice.

Camouflage also gives the wearer the element of surprise, so when MK parliamentarians suddenly appear in places they tend to avoid, such as Sars offices or the magistrate’s courts, they feel they have the upper hand and hire lawyers whose talent is similarly invisible.

Camouflage implies deception, something the party relies on heavily for its existence.

For instance, if members ever had to discover that MK exists purely as a buffer between its founder and a prison cell and a way for him to add to his pile of concealed wealth, they might not be all that thrilled.

As it is, they’re already starting to question why the party has no constitution, programme of action or even offices.

There is, I suppose, a possibility that all documentation and assets are also camouflaged. Apart from concealment, uniforms are the primary means for soldiers to tell friends and enemies apart.

In the National Assembly, however, there is no foolproof way to do this. The conversion rate is often as low as the price of a chicken pie.

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Some armies need several different camouflage uniforms, with patterns being adapted to various terrains by fastening pieces of vegetation to the uniform.

Zuma’s army will have a range of uniforms to blend in at cocktail parties, nightclubs, casinos, car dealerships, Woolies and so on.

The men may fasten R200 notes to their camo jackets as a way of attracting business partners, while the women could fasten roasted chicken legs in case they need a snack during one of parliament’s lengthier debates.

Defending the party’s sartorial choice, spokesperson Nhlamulo Ndhlela said the uniforms were a symbolic protest against the government of national unity.

In other words, a protest against democracy. And against the liberation movement that, er, actually liberated this country.

So, not a protest then, but a symbol of a protest. Suitably obscure.

Ndhlela said: “Those that don’t understand the politics and the dynamics of what we’re facing in this country, let them see that they can tweet and say the things they want is because of those people that were wearing that uniform and died for them.”

I don’t know, man. There are many of us who can’t fathom what’s going on politically, but you’re going to make us anxious if you start saying there are people who died for our right to tweet.

Meanwhile, around 20 countries, including Zambia and Zimbabwe, have banned the possession or wearing of camouflage-print clothing by non-military personnel.

The SA National Defence Force previously expressed concern about civilians wearing military-style uniforms, warning such actions could lead to prosecution.

The Defence Act stipulates that unauthorised possession or wearing of military uniforms can get you up to five years in prison.

As even the dimmest of wits among us will know, breaking the law in this fabulous country is no guarantee that punishment will follow. Far from it.

In fact, certain crimes are rewarded with things like Big Daddy’s Liquor Stores gift vouchers and positions like party whip or leader of the opposition.

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In the extremely unlikely event that Zuma’s law-breaking lawmakers are charged, they might want to use one of these excuses to get medical parole:

• Post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by being arrested;

• Reverse phantom limb syndrome. A sensation that a leg or arm is missing. Possibly sold or stolen. A chronic condition resistant to incarceration;

• Brain damage caused by trying to understand how John Steenhuisen chooses his chief of staff; and

• Permanent unspecified physical injury sustained while trying to march and chew gum at the same time.