“I’m glad we don’t have TV in Rolbos,” Dabbing an eye, Precilla switches off the radio, “to think your every tear and every sob gets transmitted right around the world. It must be terribly humiliating.”
“Listen. This isn’t a case of who did what. Oscar shot that girl and he deserves to be tried in an open court.” Servaas tugs at his collar – like he always does when he’s angry. “You can’t go around killing people and then say you’re sorry. It doesn’t wash. The law must take it’s course and the crime must be punished.”
Oudoom shakes his head. “I agree with Precilla. No matter how guilty he is, I question the circus the trial has become. I mean – think about the girl’s family, for goodness’ sakes! Can you imagine sitting there, listening to the advocates painting different scenario’s? The one says it was an accident, a case of a cripple frigthened for his life. The other guys says, no, not like that. He says Oscar is a man well acquainted with guns, a man with a short fuse, and he blew her away because he was angry.
“Two pictures on one canvas – the one the truth, the other a lie. The judge must make the call on what she’s heard in court. The public has the right to know the verdict, that I agree. But in the meantime, hours and days worth of TV and radio go into reporting every sniff and every tear. Why? Not because people are interested in the verdict – well, maybe they are, but that isn’t why they tune in to these broadcasts – they want the drama and sensation. They want to speculate and gossip. And I don’t think that’s okay. The bigger wrong may be the killing of Reeva, but I can’t condone the sensationalism that accompanies the case.”
“Yes.” Vetfaan holds up his empty glass for a refill. “Either we should have all high-profile cases on TV, or none at all. I’d like to see old Zum-Zum in the stand, answering to Gerrie Nel or that Le Roux guy.” He drops his voice an octave. “I put it to you, Mister President, that you have been engaged in a serious attempt to lie your way out of trouble. You lied to parliament, didn’t you, because you thought you could get away with everything?”
Vetfaan turns to address Boggel behind the counter. “Milady, with due respect to the court, this man still has to answer on more than 700 counts of corruption and other issues. His liaison with the Gupta’s and the Shaiks of this world has tarnished his credibility as a witness. I put it to you that such a man is unfit to lead a country.”
Now he raises his tone slightly, assuming a different persona, to confront the little crowd at the counter. “Oh no Milady. My learned colleague has sketched a terribly skewed picture of one of Africa’s foremost leaders. High trees and much wind and all that, you know? We have to take into consideration the background of our great leader. Was he not a fearless fighter against the scourge of Apartheid? Did he not father 21 (or thereabouts) children by various ladies? Does that not indicate a man of great capacity – a man of high morals, a man of vision, immensely popular amongst his compatriots? And oh, Milady, let us not digress into trivialities like arms deals and a few cents here and there. Look at the greater picture, Milady, and I put it to you that this case is a travesty of justice.”
Gertruida gets up to stare out of the window. It is another hot day in the Kalahari, with a lonely dust devil dancing slowly past the church on the other side of Voortrekker Weg.
“The law is an ass,” she quotes, “just like a donkey. The famous phrase is attributed to Charles Dickens, who published Oliver Twist in 1838 – the same year the Great Trek started. It’s something Mr Bumble said when it was put to him that the law supposes he is the boss in the house. The origin of the phrase goes back to the time Jan van Riebeeck landed in the Cape. It was George Chapman who published Revenge for Honour in 1654 and he wrote: ‘Ere he shall lose an eye for such a trifle… For doing deeds of nature! I’m ashamed. The law is such an ass.’
“The point, gentlemen, is that the law is blind. It only sees the letters on the pages, it doesn’t allow for creative thought. So we can frown and grumble about Pistorius, but the law knows only one way to come to a decision. Oscar is guilty and he’ll be punished. Does that mean justice was done?”
Gertruida waits for some response, gets nothing, and sighs before answering her own question.
“No. For justice to be done, you have to reinstate the circumstances and conditions that existed before the crime. Putting Oscar in jail doesn’t do that. Reeva is dead. A family lost a daughter with a bright future. An athlete has lost the respect and adoration of thousands of fans.
“Justice? No. Revenge, maybe. But it won’t fix anything.”
“Ja, Gertruida, you are right.” With the upcoming elections, Kleinpiet is more worried about voting than the court case in Pretoria. “But what about our president? Why don’t they arrange a debate between him and Gerrie Nel? Wouldn’t that be something?”
Oudoom finishes his beer and gets up to leave.
“You lot! All you did this morning was to cry out for justice and revenge. Law this and law that. Sensation. Drama. Gossip. And this in the time when we remember the events surrounding Easter Time. Should we all not become quiet and contemplate the ultimate sacrifice Jesus brought to free us from such things? What happened to forgiveness?”
“That’s the point, Dominee.” This time, Gertruida uses his official title. “Jesus was crucified because of the law of the time. He was innocent, but that didn’t help Him. And that, Dominee, should tell us something: human judgement is flawed at its core. We choose to apply laws as it suits us. And then, just like in Dickens’ time, we want to hang sinners in public. We want to rant and rave and point fingers. That, unfortunately, is human behaviour. But…we also turn a blind eye to the many wrongs in our society. Maybe such high-profile cases soothe our consciences into thinking that there is still some justice left in the world. We condemn a man who did something terrible, but we manage to ignore the drugs, the crime, the farm murders, the raping of children and women.
“One major court case, and we go crazy. A million less obvious wrongs just get accepted as being part of a normal society. And…I simply don’t think that will ever change.”
“Sister Gertruida,” this time Oudoom, too, uses his sermon voice, “I shall now return to my home. I shall think about Easter. I shall spend time in prayer. And then I’ll try not to spend Easter Weekend as an advocate for the defence or for the state. I’ll want to spend the next few days contemplating kindness and peace and forgiveness and love.”
In the silence that follows the old clergyman’s departure, Boggel polishes some glasses behind the counter.
“You think we should pray for Oscar during Easter? Or for that matter, that our president shall receive the wisdom to tell the truth for a change?”
They all look at Boggel with surprised faces.
“What?” Servaas is the first to respond. “You crazy? Listen, it may be in God’s power to change a man’s thinking – or even the way we follow the Pistorius trial – but in the end we do what we do because we are human. We ignore, condemn, gossip, lie and cheat. And worst of all, we think the law protects us against such things. We pay more respect to our flawed laws than we do to our religion. So, yes, let us pray – but before we do, we must take a step back and ask ourselves if our all own actions are just and fair. If the answer is no, then each of us is - like the law – an ass.”
He, at least, gets a whispered ‘Amen’ from Gertruida.