So, a local politician whom you steadily detest, because he is totally corrupt; makes it known that he intends to stand for re-election.
In this ‘demi-paradise’ called England, the person objecting has many tools at his disposal, ranging from protest meetings, campaigns in newspapers, Twitter campaigns, blog postings, questions to his council; in other words, all legal means at his disposal, along with any other people he rallies to his cause. Sometimes it works, sometimes not; which is actually what Democracy is all about; if you can gain traction for your point of view, and the majority concurs: you have cracked it. The Politician doesn’t get re-elected, or does, but is so fatally wounded that he resigns shortly afterwards.
Not so in that once truly green-and-pleasant-land which I used to call home; namely South Africa. A local politician who was deemed to be corrupt declared that he was standing for office in Isithebe, northern KwaZulu-Natal, once more. So a huge mob commenced a running riot, burning cars, homes and even torching the factories which had given them employment.
As I stated, I once called South Africa my home, but that was in the days when there was an honest, incorruptible White Government at the helm, where there was firm but fair local government, and when some clown commenced burning and rioting, he got what he was due before an independent Judge, after a fair trial. I look back at my time in South Africa with great affection, and even greater worry; for I have many firm friends who did not have the sheer luxury of British Passports when ready to leave: and one Aunt, one small very elderly lady who lives in retirement in a religious community deep within that truly unhappy land, one small lady who mistakenly believed that the Blacks deserved better, that they respected education, and that the magic ‘vote’, along with the equally-magic ‘Black rule’ would solve all the problems.
I still believe in the truth of old Afrikaner statement:- ‘You can take the Kaffir out of the Jungle, but you can never, ever; take the Jungle out of the Kaffir’