Latest news with #KuKluxKlan
Express Tribune
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Express Tribune
Sinners review: horror with a dash of soul
I remember it was a school night. Uneventful. Mundane. Ordinary. Until of course it wasn't. I walked into Sinners knowing absolutely nothing about it. No trailers, no cast announcements, not even a vague plot synopsis. 2025 hasn't been a milestone year for Hollywood so far and my expectations were reasonably demure. In a time where every movie seems dissected by teasers, leaks, and spoiler-filled thumbnails long before it hits the screen, perhaps I was happy to embrace the tiny prick of rebellion that it was to go in blind. I didn't know who directed it, who starred in it, or even what genre it belonged to. All I had was the title, 'Sinners'. So, with little else than the quiet curiosity that the title aroused, we dove in. Seldom does ignorance turn out to be such a gift. 'There are legends of people born with the gift of making music so true, it can pierce the veil between life and death, conjuring spirits from the past and the future." The two hour plus long cinematic experience that unfolded was so wildly unexpected, so unapologetically bold, that I was hooked from the first scene to its very last – post credits and all! Sinners is a story where the Mississippi Delta's revered soul meets fangs, fiddles, and the ghosts of the blues. And because I had no preconceived notions, every twist, every character, and every note of music (!?) hit with full force. They're not wrong when they say, that the best way to experience a story is to let it surprise you. There's a certain magic in the way Ryan Coogler makes a movie feel like both a personal memory and a cinematic epic. With Sinners, he takes that alchemy to bold new territory: a gonzo horror-thriller set in 1930s Mississippi, soaked in Delta blues, with a dash of Irish folk, and the bite of bloodthirsty vampires. On paper, I can imagine that it sounded like a madman's fever dream. On the screen however, it translated into a hypnotic, genre-bending, musical phantasmagoria that redefined what horror — and musical storytelling — can be. For those who might not be familiar, Coogler, known for Fruitvale Station, Creed, and Black Panther, ventures into the deep South for this ambitious tale, intertwining American racial history with folklore and the universal language of music. To put it plainly, Sinners is a vampire movie while also being a heartfelt tribute to blues music. To wax on, Sinners is a meditation on cultural survival, appropriation, and the seductive power of art across time and bloodlines. The Devil at the crossroads At the heart of Sinners are twin brothers Smoke and Stack (the Smokestack twins), both played with remarkable distinction by the luminous Michael B. Jordan. Returning to their rural Mississippi hometown, the brothers venture to open a juke joint, a refuge for Black folks exhausted by the relentless grind of cotton fields and the ever-present threat of Ku Klux Klan violence. Their sanctuary is meant to be a celebration of Black joy and resilience, pulsing with the rhythms of the blues. But once you open a door, you can't be certain of what evil might come barging through. Rather than hooded Klansmen, the true antagonists are a trio of vampires, led by Jack O'Connell's enigmatic Remmick, accompanied by Joan (Lola Kirke) and Bert (Peter Dreimanis). They arrive with fiddles, bodhráns, and the lilting allure of Irish folk music. Bearing them as gifts in honor of the brothers' new music joint. Gifts that might earn them a welcome. Their music is their weapon: hypnotic, foreign, yet eerily familiar. Coogler cleverly riffs on the legend of Robert Johnson, the bluesman who supposedly sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads. But here, the deal is reframed: the vampire Remmick offers freedom from the brutalities of mortal life — eternal youth, power, escape from racism and oppression. His pitch is seductive, precisely because he presents himself as an outsider to America's racial hierarchies, an ancient being who seemed to have witnessed Ireland's own colonisation and sees Mississippi's racial violence with a detached, almost anthropological eye. As defenders of their community Smoke and Stack are drawn into this supernatural conflict, in a marginally pronounced role, as artists grappling with the existential question: Who owns the blues? Is it the people who lived it? Or can it be co-opted, adulterated, transmuted, and commodified by those who neither understand its pain nor respect its roots? As the vampires' influence grows, the juke joint descends into a battleground of culture, memory, and identity (read lots and lots of blood). Blues, blood, and Bodhráns Ryan Coogler's deep reverence for music is evident in every frame. Teaming up once again with composer Ludwig Göransson, the duo crafts a soundscape that is more vital to the storytelling than any dialogue or action sequence. The diegetic music, songs performed on screen by the characters profoundly grounds the film in its historical context. The juke joint scenes are electric, featuring authentic blues performances that feel lived-in: familiar and raw. One standout moment is when newcomer Miles Caton, playing the young singer Sammie, delivers a haunting rendition of the original song 'I Lied to You.' Caton's voice, aged beyond his years, crackles with sorrow and defiance, while the camera dances through the club, blurring the boundaries of time and space. In an unforgettable set piece, the walls of the juke joint dissolve as Coogler blends 1930s plantation workers, ancient African drummers, modern DJs, and even twerking dancers into a transcendent musical tableau. It is a literal eruption of history through sound, culminating in the roof bursting into a plume of flames, a shot Coogler proudly confirms was done practically, not digitally. The scene in itself is a visual and sonic manifesto about the enduring, evolving soul of Black music, brought to life through the director's bravura. And then there's the Irish music. One could imagine the vampires' arrival being heralded with ominous strings, spine chilling and ethereal — but what we get instead are sprightly reels tinged with melancholic airs. Coogler's personal affection for Irish folk, shared by his family, informs this choice. The gimmick cashes in triumphantly; the use of Irish music deepens the film's themes. The fiddles and jigs, while at face value, contrast starkly with the heavier, bass hefty blues, snap right into place — an immaculate union; both echoing similar emotional truths — requiems of sorrow, of exile, and of resilience. Jack O'Connell's Remmick isn't your typical gothic villain either. His musicality is central to his allure. Trained intensively by Göransson, O'Connell plays a credible, if uncanny, folk musician. His companions, Joan and Bert, portrayed by real-life musicians Lola Kirke and Peter Dreimanis, add layers of authenticity to their combined performance. Together, their music becomes a siren song, luring the oppressed with promises of transcendence. Göransson's score threads these disparate musical traditions into a coherent sonic universe. He wields the 1932 Dobro resonator guitar like a time machine, layering it with slide guitar, harmonica, and, in moments of climax, Metallica-inspired power chords. Lars Ulrich himself contributes to the film's heaviest sequences, reminding us of the blues' evolutionary path into rock and metal. The musical interplay between the Delta blues and Irish folk is beyond being merely aesthetic; it is instead, thematic – enhancing both arts to a level transcendent. Both genres emerged from oppressed peoples finding solace and power in subdued reverie and song. Yet in Sinners, this mirrored heritage instead becomes a battleground of authenticity versus appropriation, lived experience versus immortal detachment. Horror, history, and the haunting of America While Sinners is packed with thrilling set pieces and gothic horror tropes, Coogler's ambitions stretch far beyond genre thrills. This is a film about America's original sins that scar its tapestry to this day: slavery, racism, exploitation. Remmick and his vampires are not stand-ins for the Klan or plantation owners. They are something far older, and more insidious: the eternal temptation of man to escape suffering at the cost of one's soul. Their 'offer' is alluring precisely because it feels like liberation from the grinding reality of Jim Crow-era Mississippi. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that true freedom cannot be bought or bitten into. Delroy Lindo delivers a memorable turn as Delta Slim, an old bluesman who recognizes the vampires' allure for what it ultimately is: a beautiful lie. His piano lessons with Göransson imbue his scenes with lived-in wisdom, his character serving as both a mentor and a cautionary figure. Coogler also weaves in a modern coda. The post-credits scene, featuring blues legend Buddy Guy, ties the film's century-old events to contemporary realities. Coogler's emotional meeting with Guy, himself a former sharecropper, adds a poignant resonance. This scene is a living testament to the blues' journey, survival, and relevance. A bold, beautiful, bloody ballad Sinners is by all means, a very audacious film. The first half of the film is diametrically opposite in tonality to the latter. It is these shifts, from historical drama to horror to musical fantasia, that might not be for everyone but its ambition, mastery in craft, and sheer passion are undeniable. Michael B. Jordan's dual performance anchors the film with emotional depth, while Jack O'Connell's Remmick is one of the most fascinating vampire portrayals in recent cinema: neither purely evil nor entirely sympathetic; just real, bloodcurdlingly real. The music, however, stands out as the film's true star. Göransson's work here is revelatory, a culmination of his collaborations with Coogler. The score while accompanying the visuals, elevates them, and in doing so, becomes part of the narrative fabric. Every pluck, slide, and beat, tells a story, conjuring ghosts of the past while forging new sonic pathways. Sinners commemorates music. Music is magic. Music is memory. Music is resistance. Whoever thought it could not have been done — Ryan Coogler has crafted a film that is as much about the power of art as it is about vampires. It is about how the oppressed find their voice, how that voice can be stolen, and how, through sheer and indelible force of soul, it can be reclaimed. In the end, Sinners is so much more than a horror movie. It is a blues song come to life. It is a lament and it is a battle cry. It is a haunting and it is a healing. It sings, and oh boy, does it sing. Shahzad Abdullah is a PR and communications strategist, cultural curator and director of communications at Media Matters All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer
Yahoo
5 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Contributor: In an era that celebrates cruelty, embrace subversive kindness
In 1925, 25,000 members of the Ku Klux Klan marched down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington. Never before had so many men in white sheets descended on the nation's capital, their 'invisible empire' becoming visible. The Klan's far-flung ranks are estimated to have numbered 4 million. Fourteen years later, a pro-Nazi rally at New York's Madison Square Garden drew 20,000. The hosting organization, the German American Bund, actively supported Hitler and his 'leader principle,' or Führerprinzip, by which a single leader has absolute power. Though not explicitly pro-Hitler, the isolationist America First Committee was also surging. In 1941, America First found a spokesperson in the famed aviator Charles Lindbergh, who accused Jews of conspiring to lead the U.S. into World War II. Fascism almost 'happened here,' to riff on the title of Sinclair Lewis' 1935 novel 'It Can't Happen Here,' about the anti-democratic forces threatening America in the lead-up to the Second World War. Why didn't it? Well, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, and Germany declared war on the United States. These events spurred the public to support the war effort. Then, when American troops went overseas, they witnessed firsthand what fascist regimes were doing to civilians on the streets and in concentration camps, and Americans wrote home about the atrocities. The press and film industry also exposed the brutality. Americans generally didn't like what they saw, and protofascist movements in the U.S. were forced underground. Now murmurs from the sewer can be heard again. Not just on social media but in public discourse. It looks as if the decades of relatively stable democracy following the war were not a change in our history but a temporary interlude. And I fear that a critical guardrail is gone. If Americans were once revolted by the aesthetics of fascism, in today's era of mass content consumption, many now appear to be entertained. How else to explain the 94,000 likes of a video, posted by the White House's official X account, of migrants being chained without due process and put on an airplane? The post included a caption bearing the hashtag '#ASMR,' referring to the pleasurable response to auditory or visual stimuli — implying that some in the audience would be soothed by seeing such cruelty. It would be more apt to caption the video '#TorturePorn.' And how to explain the 32,000 likes of a posed photo of Rep. Riley Moore ( in which the congressman is giving thumbs up outside a cell at the Terrorism Confinement Center in El Salvador, where individuals are being held indefinitely after being detained in the U.S. without due process? If I had any doubts about my compatriots' appetite for human suffering, these were put to rest with the news that the Department of Homeland Security is considering a reality show in which immigrants compete for U.S. citizenship. While Secretary Kristi Noem has not yet approved the program, the fact that a producer would even float such a dehumanizing premise speaks to the public's appetite for exploitation. The American people apparently do not merely rely on migrants to pick our crops and build our homes; we also expect to be entertained by their struggles. What is there to do when swaths of the public are no longer horrified, but rather titillated, by the imagery of the far right? What hope is there when the prospect of ICE agents storming workplaces and neighborhoods makes so many people giddy? I believe the answer is to promote images of hospitality — that is, images of people embracing prisoners and welcoming those who hail from foreign lands. The antidote to an aesthetics of exploitation is an aesthetics of encounter. The late Pope Francis emblematized the latter. Only two days after the congressman went viral for his thumbs up against a cell block, the pontiff marked Holy Thursday by visiting the Regina Coeli prison in Rome. There he spoke with inmates, prayed with them and blew kisses. If not for his ailing health, he said, he'd have washed inmates' feet, as he's done in the past in accordance with tradition. An American priest, Father James Martin, noted the stark contrast between the West Virginia lawmaker and the pontiff, two Catholics making very different uses of photo opportunities with prisoners. Martin asked in a post on X: 'Which way would Jesus, who was imprisoned, prefer?' Of course, many of us outside the church have our own images and memories of fraternity bridging divides. Having long served in the United State Foreign Service, I was privileged to meet countless people from around the world. Even when we did not share a language, we shared meals. Even when we had no common past, we were able to find common goals. I find myself returning to these experiences and musing about their quiet radicality. There is something powerful about people of different tribes coming together to share a laugh, break bread or simply recognize their shared humanity. Understanding this, I've tried, as a novelist, to write scenes of communion to combat those of violence. As a thriller about infiltrating a white supremacist militia, my next book does not shy away from exposing neo-Nazis' dark libido. But nor does it skimp on expressing hope for peace, celebrating characters who cross racial and cultural lines to become friends and even lovers. At a time when simply by bearing witness to the news each day, Americans mass-consume what amounts to torture porn, we all have a duty to capture and recreate small moments of encounter. Because encounters transform us from the inside out. Francis put it poetically when he wrote that we must resist 'the temptation to build a culture of walls,' whether in our hearts or on our lands. For those 'who raise walls will end up as slaves within the very walls they have built,' he said, and will be 'left without horizons.' Otho Eskin, a playwright and retired diplomat, is the author of the forthcoming novel 'Black Sun Rising.' If it's in the news right now, the L.A. Times' Opinion section covers it. Sign up for our weekly opinion newsletter. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
5 days ago
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
In an era that celebrates cruelty, embrace subversive kindness
In 1925, 25,000 members of the Ku Klux Klan marched down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington. Never before had so many men in white sheets descended on the nation's capital, their 'invisible empire' becoming visible. The Klan's far-flung ranks are estimated to have numbered 4 million. Fourteen years later, a pro-Nazi rally at New York's Madison Square Garden drew 20,000. The hosting organization, the German American Bund, actively supported Hitler and his 'leader principle,' or Führerprinzip, by which a single leader has absolute power. Though not explicitly pro-Hitler, the isolationist America First Committee was also surging. In 1941, America First found a spokesperson in the famed aviator Charles Lindbergh, who accused Jews of conspiring to lead the U.S. into World War II. Fascism almost 'happened here,' to riff on the title of Sinclair Lewis' 1935 novel 'It Can't Happen Here,' about the anti-democratic forces threatening America in the lead-up to the Second World War. Why didn't it? Well, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, and Germany declared war on the United States. These events spurred the public to support the war effort. Then, when American troops went overseas, they witnessed firsthand what fascist regimes were doing to civilians on the streets and in concentration camps, and Americans wrote home about the atrocities. The press and film industry also exposed the brutality. Americans generally didn't like what they saw, and protofascist movements in the U.S. were forced underground. Now murmurs from the sewer can be heard again. Not just on social media but in public discourse. It looks as if the decades of relatively stable democracy following the war were not a change in our history but a temporary interlude. And I fear that a critical guardrail is gone. If Americans were once revolted by the aesthetics of fascism, in today's era of mass content consumption, many now appear to be entertained. How else to explain the 94,000 likes of a video, posted by the White House's official X account, of migrants being chained without due process and put on an airplane? The post included a caption bearing the hashtag '#ASMR,' referring to the pleasurable response to auditory or visual stimuli — implying that some in the audience would be soothed by seeing such cruelty. It would be more apt to caption the video '#TorturePorn.' And how to explain the 32,000 likes of a posed photo of Rep. Riley Moore ( in which the congressman is giving thumbs up outside a cell at the Terrorism Confinement Center in El Salvador, where individuals are being held indefinitely after being detained in the U.S. without due process? If I had any doubts about my compatriots' appetite for human suffering, these were put to rest with the news that the Department of Homeland Security is considering a reality show in which immigrants compete for U.S. citizenship. While Secretary Kristi Noem has not yet approved the program, the fact that a producer would even float such a dehumanizing premise speaks to the public's appetite for exploitation. The American people apparently do not merely rely on migrants to pick our crops and build our homes; we also expect to be entertained by their struggles. What is there to do when swaths of the public are no longer horrified, but rather titillated, by the imagery of the far right? What hope is there when the prospect of ICE agents storming workplaces and neighborhoods makes so many people giddy? I believe the answer is to promote images of hospitality — that is, images of people embracing prisoners and welcoming those who hail from foreign lands. The antidote to an aesthetics of exploitation is an aesthetics of encounter. The late Pope Francis emblematized the latter. Only two days after the congressman went viral for his thumbs up against a cell block, the pontiff marked Holy Thursday by visiting the Regina Coeli prison in Rome. There he spoke with inmates, prayed with them and blew kisses. If not for his ailing health, he said, he'd have washed inmates' feet, as he's done in the past in accordance with tradition. An American priest, Father James Martin, noted the stark contrast between the West Virginia lawmaker and the pontiff, two Catholics making very different uses of photo opportunities with prisoners. Martin asked in a post on X: 'Which way would Jesus, who was imprisoned, prefer?' Of course, many of us outside the church have our own images and memories of fraternity bridging divides. Having long served in the United State Foreign Service, I was privileged to meet countless people from around the world. Even when we did not share a language, we shared meals. Even when we had no common past, we were able to find common goals. I find myself returning to these experiences and musing about their quiet radicality. There is something powerful about people of different tribes coming together to share a laugh, break bread or simply recognize their shared humanity. Understanding this, I've tried, as a novelist, to write scenes of communion to combat those of violence. As a thriller about infiltrating a white supremacist militia, my next book does not shy away from exposing neo-Nazis' dark libido. But nor does it skimp on expressing hope for peace, celebrating characters who cross racial and cultural lines to become friends and even lovers. At a time when simply by bearing witness to the news each day, Americans mass-consume what amounts to torture porn, we all have a duty to capture and recreate small moments of encounter. Because encounters transform us from the inside out. Francis put it poetically when he wrote that we must resist 'the temptation to build a culture of walls,' whether in our hearts or on our lands. For those 'who raise walls will end up as slaves within the very walls they have built,' he said, and will be 'left without horizons.' Otho Eskin, a playwright and retired diplomat, is the author of the forthcoming novel 'Black Sun Rising.'
Yahoo
6 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Our community: Here are 44 of the incredible Oklahomans we've met over the last year
In April 2024, The Oklahoman launched a new feature called Get To Know. It appears each week on our website and in our printed paper on Sunday. GTK is intended to be a community connection, introducing our readers to people doing interesting and often significant things. Looking back at the dozens of GTK articles we've published over the past year, we've initiated conversations with a wide variety of Oklahomans. The list includes corporate executives, legislative leaders, heads of state agencies and nonprofit organizations, along with a college president, a mayor, a tennis coach and a zookeeper. We've interviewed leaders in the Latino and Asian communities and icons of the Black civil rights movement. We've shared the views of people with widely different political persuasions, from the former owner of OKC's biggest gun store and the author of the state's restrictive abortion law, to the head of the state teacher's union and an activist for more youth social services. And we've tackled issues like poor school performance, legal aid for those who can't afford attorneys, deportation of unlawful immigrants, missing and murdered Native American women, among others. We hope you've found these weekly conversations with fellow Oklahomans enlightening and fun to read. And we're calling for your for help in making the second year of our series even more worthwhile. Tell us who you think we should all "Get to Know." All we need is the suggestion, and we'll follow through. Send your thoughts to me directly at Or use the email address for letters to the editor: . We're looking forward to hearing from you. In case you missed them, here is a sampling of some of the thoughts shared by those we interviewed: "It's been a long time since I've been in school, but even with my children, I don't believe the Tulsa massacre in 1921 or the massacre of some of our Native Americans in pre-statehood days has ever been told in the textbooks, at least until recently. I give speeches about historical events like that in Oklahoma, and people will say, 'I never heard about that.' We just didn't cover what I believe are ugly parts. For example, the Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s was so powerful it controlled much of the government, and we didn't learn that growing up. It's important to study even the ugly parts of our history. If we don't talk about our mistakes with the next generation, how will they learn?" (Read more here.) "One out of five children live in poverty in Oklahoma. How are we addressing that? Because until we address the poverty situation, we'll never have change. I feel like I need a button that reads, 'Because of Poverty, Because of Poverty, Because of Poverty,' because when we talk about almost every issue we have, the overarching issue is poverty. Take education. Our teachers are struggling to teach our kids because the kids aren't getting what they need at home because of poverty, right? People aren't earning a living wage, and we're 80,000 units short of obtainable housing because of poverty." (Read more here) "Legal Aid doesn't have the capacity to do all that needs to be done. We do the best we can. We try to be where our clients already congregate. Health care facilities, for example. We're at 35 different hospitals and clinics across the state. We have about 230-240 lawyers, and that makes us the biggest law firm in the state, which isn't known by a lot of people. Why don't more people come? Transportation is still an issue. People are sometimes intimidated, thinking they have to go to a legal office. They may think they're going to get charged, even though we don't charge anybody anything." (Read More) "We have people from all walks of life, all career paths. Some of our students already have four-year degrees and are coming back to upskill or reskill. We have younger folks who kind of fit the traditional college pattern and others who are balancing jobs, families and school. We are a beautifully diverse campus in terms of gender, ethnicity, and I am very proud of that. I would also say that we're an emerging Hispanic institution, which means that nearly 25% of our students are Hispanic. We see the diversity on our campus as value added, and it's not something that we shy away from here." (Read More) "The culture here in Oklahoma is different than it is in other places I've lived. We have a tendency here to let sleeping dogs lie. Even African Americans here have been basically nonviolent people. The closest you came to a protest was probably when Mrs. (Clara) Luper did the sit-in at the drugstore. There are more doors to kick open, but that's a scary thing to some folks. To this day, there's a hesitancy to some in saying the name of this center, the Black Liberated Arts Center." (Read More) Historian Bob Burke on Oklahoma history, and what's happening now Oklahoman opened doors for Dallas Mavericks CEO, Black women in STEM OKC nonprofit Palomar works to curb domestic violence, sexual abuse OKC Zoo's chief of animal programs officer talks animal care Coach Dick Villaflor retires as one of best Oklahoma HS tennis coaches Sandino Thompson seeks to rebuild community for OKC's minorities Oklahoma tribal leader, educator wants to improve understanding Douglass tennis star in Oklahoma elevates sport for Trojans, community OKC's Latino community alarmed by state's new immigration law Former H&H Shooting Sports owner talks gun rights in the United States Meals on Wheels OKC helps feed 22,000 seniors each week OKC civil rights activist Joyce Jackson works to energize next generation OU College of Medicine Dean Ian Dunn on teaching reproductive care OKCPS nutrition program director feeds 32,000 students So far, spiritual adviser Jeff Hood has seen seven executions Feroz Bashari, refugee in Oklahoma, was once voice for Afghan government OKC painter Kiona Wooton Millirons pours pain of sister's death into art What are Oklahomans thinking? Pollster Pat McFerron keeps tabs New OKC public works director looks ahead to new projects, Olympics OSU professor Joey Senat talks Oklahoma open records, open meeting law Tulsa Oklahoma writer Rhys Martin an advocate for preserving Route 66 Oklahoma Policy Institute seeks nonpartisan help for those in need Sisu Youth Services' leader explains causes of youth homelessness How unlikely mayor of Hochatown became an activist for the community Geothermal energy could be a new winner for state's oil & gas industry Former Boys & Girls Club CEO's book promotes the after-school program Oklahoma senator says changes in state abortion law necessary Finding a job is big business for Express Employment's Bill Stoller Oklahoma City Community College president talks goals, next 50 years Latinos in OKC unsure whether to be hopeful or fearful after election Free assistance from Legal Aid helps many Oklahomans in trouble Teachers union leader says Ryan Walters has created 'culture of fear' How OKC's Asian District can grow according to these business owners Utopia Plastix in Oklahoma's goal to replace conventional plastics New Oklahoma House Speaker Hilbert on tax cuts, mental health, abortion New Oklahoma Senate leader Lonnie Paxton wants income tax cuts Jimmy's Egg OKC restaurant owner shares his story on immigration Meet Cyndi Thomas, an OKC high school guidance counselor Meet the Oklahoma woman fighting against the nation's 'silent epidemic' Meet co-founder of Potts Family Foundation helping Oklahoma education Meet the OU scientist looking for breakthroughs in tornado research Meet the woman heading an effort to improve access to reproductive care in Oklahoma She was one of many helping the wounded at the OKC bombing. Now she helps preserve the victims' memory Meet a legislator passionate about education. Could he someday replace Ryan Walters? In 2025, we have allowed you to learn more about some of our staff members, as well. Here are some teams we've featured. Faith, food and fun: Meet The Oklahoman's Features team reporting on it all Answering the big questions that are important to you Oklahoma's moments, on film and on paper: Meet The Oklahoman's visuals team Full-court press: Meet The Oklahoman sports team reporting on the OKC Thunder during the 2025 NBA Playoffs This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: 44 Oklahomans we've met who are changing the state for the better
Daily Maverick
24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Maverick
Ramaphosa gets braaied and fed to Trump's Maga at the US-SA Boerewors Summit
Cringe diplomacy reigns as timid South African delegation stumbles into Trump's made-for-TV unreality show. There is a genre of comedy, probably as old as laughter itself, that asks the audience to baste in the sauce of the protagonist's humiliation. Not being a classicist, I have no idea if this kind of thing appeared in, say, Euripides; not being an Africanist, I have no notion of its prevalence in pre-contact Bantu poetry. I seem to remember some of it in Shakespeare, but don't quote me. It is certainly a feature of British sitcoms. Think Basil Fawlty, John Cleese's splenetic hotelier from the Fawlty Towers series, who bumbled himself into excruciating social mishaps. Or Ricky Gervais' The Office, where David Brent snivelled his way into disastrous interactions with his colleagues at a dead-end paper factory. Cringe comedy is now a staple on television and in the movies. It's also a staple of international diplomacy. Consider the unfolding of the much-anticipated Boerewors Summit betwixt President Cyril Ramaphosa and US President Donald J Trump, which unfolded in and around the Oval Office on Wednesday, 21 May. There sat Ramaphosa as Trump played a video montage of Julius Malema's greatest hits, wearing a face that suggested 'recently embalmed'. It was an arse-clenchingly difficult experience. But welcome to the era of cringe geopolitics. And remember, if it's free to watch, you're the product. Braai (front) pack Give Ramaphosa this much: he knows how to pacify cranky white supremacists. Remember when he talked a whole bunch of trigger-happy (yet, sadly, broke) apartheid people off a ledge? Neither do I. But we're constantly reminded of it by Ramaphosa's apologists, who insist that he is to negotiation what Kim Kardashian is to lip filler. In advance of the Boerewors Summit, so named because, as my colleague Rebecca Davis has pointed out, Trump doesn't like to hear ladies talk (AKA DEI), Ramaphosa stacked his delegation with men. And indeed, it's as if Ramaphosa & Company planned to set up a braai in the Oval Office and jaw about golf and stuff. Johann Rupert was on the dance card, as living, walking, breathing proof that nothing has ever been taken from white people in South Africa. And maybe to furnish Trump and Melania with a host of luxury goods-cum-bribes, as has now become the norm? There were also golfers on the list, good ones, and there is nothing Trump loves more than golfers – a sport he would later describe as a sort of messianic rite of passage akin to walking over hot coals while carrying a small planet on your shoulders. It escaped no one that the delegation was stacked towards white folks. This abused minority group was finally having its moment – a visit to the White House, never more appropriately named, to meet the Grand Vizier of the latest franchise of the Ku Klux Klan. They carried gifts – although none as eye-catching as the luxury Bribe Airways 747 recently handed over to the Pentagon by Qatar – and they were ready to smooth the white sheets, bribe the administration with a Starlink deal memo and try to get some business done. The thing about braais, though, is you never know how they're going to end. Once the sausage hits the flames and the third Klippies and Coke is poured, it's game on. The only thing missing was the rugby. Sausage in Chief Twenty-first-century politics is indiscernible from entertainment. In fact, it is entertainment. Trump not only understands this, he embodies it. He not only embodies it, he doubles down on it. Ramaphosa, on the other hand, lives comfortably in and around 1998. The South African Constitution has been drafted, he's been deployed to business, he's farming large draft beasts, and all is well across the land. Unhappily, time moves on. In his various roles since those halcyon days, which now includes more than a decade as either deputy president or president, he has cut an enigmatic figure. 'Enigmatic' is a euphemism for someone who refuses to speak to the press, and prefers to communicate by reading off an iPad into the blinking eye of a television camera. This means that there was no one on Earth less prepared for a press scrum in the Oval Office, apart from death row prisoners held in solitary confinement, or medieval friars at the tail end of a vow of silence. The initial parts of the meet-and-greet seemed to go according to protocol, minus the usual blips. And it was clear, as everyone filed into Trump's lair, that the South African delegation was determined to stay on message and come home with some of that delicious Foreign Direct Investment. And, at first, it did go well. Soft and obsequious, careful not to ruffle the Big Bwana's hairdo, Ramaphosa laid out the case for South Africa as an investment destination. He made Trump aware that 600 American businesses flourish to varying degrees in the country, and that it remains a place replete with 'critical minerals' – a term that made Trump twitch like a slumbering lion that catches wind of a buck, and may have doomed South Africa to a barrage of intercontinental ballistic missiles in the near future. Trump seemed bored, mostly because he was. This meeting was, for him, nothing at all to do with business and the usual diplomatic niceties. Which is why, after Ramaphosa's pitch was done, he began playing videos of Julius Malema's greatest hits. On screen, the lights in the Oval Office darkened for dramatic effect, a supercut of Malema singing Dubul' ibhunu played for what seemed like an Andy Warhol film installation amount of time. The braai had begun. And it turns out that the South Africans were the boerewors. Flames thrown What unfolded next was an ambush that should have been anticipated, but wasn't. Give Trump this much – he has tried to get the entire world to play along with his Oval Office slugfests, but so far only Ukraine's President Volodymyr Zelensky has been willing to stand up for himself and push back against the administration's lies. Ramaphosa shifted vaguely in his seat like a puppet whose master was in the toilet doing coke with a fallen congressman. After Trump showed a video of a protest in Newcastle, KwaZulu-Natal, featuring white crosses lining a roadside – not grave sites, as he implied, but rather a memorial to victims of South Africa's unacceptable levels of violence – and after Trump shoved reams of paperwork into his hands, all the South African could muster was a weak, 'I haven't seen that.' Trump showed nothing more than the usual stuff circulated by Maga. What was required now was a forceful rebuttal, a reminder to those pre-sent that there is no 'white genocide' in South Africa, and that minority rights are protected. It was time to own the internet and the nightly news shows with a polite but determined speech. Crickets. Instead, Ramaphosa deferred to John Steenhuisen in his capacity as minister of agriculture. He gave a short, standard DA campaign speech. Trump then threw to the golfers, whom he seemed to regard as second sons, who couldn't muster a full-throated pushback against Maga lies. In fact, Retief Goosen was spectacularly inarticulate, but nevertheless it seemed to thrill Trump that he could speak at all. Then came Johann Rupert, in keeping with the theme of white grievance, insisting that he was the greatest victim of Malema's agitation. (Tell that to the township folks shaken down by the EFF's racketeering troops, but that's a story for another day.) The handbag salesman also wasn't able to say THERE IS NO CAMPAIGN OF WHITE GENOCIDE, perhaps because he was too busy tapping Ronald Lamola on the shoulder and referring to him as 'this one'. Oh, and incidentally, a black woman spoke for several minutes. It was a shambles, but one that should have been anticipated. Trump's intention was simple – to throw red meat to his base as it came off the grill. It was the equivalent of asking Ramaphosa, when was the last time you beat your wife? And the only reply was simpering. Tongs for the opportunity I'm aware that there are those who thought that the Boerewors Summit went about as well as it could have. Clearly, I disagree. The second Trump administration is hardly an American anomaly, but a culminating point on America's long imperial arc, and a return to an expansionist, transactional mode that existed back in the 19th century. You either understand this, or you are unfit for a leadership role in 2025. By visiting the Imperium, Ramaphosa and his delegation should have realised that they were bit players in a larger drama – Trump's acceptance of the role as the White Supremacist in Chief. Yes, business is important, but if there is nothing in it for this administration, it doesn't matter what Ramaphosa says or does, they'll do what they want when they want, with no deference to diplomatic niceties. In other words, it's time to grow up. The message should have been: we're open for business, but we're closed for input in our sovereign affairs. The second Trump regime is an authoritarian gong show, a DEI initiative for drunks and failsons, and a vast empire's noisome death grunt. The moment demanded strength. It demanded a braai master. And that is indeed an ironclad rule in South Africa – never let another person touch your braai tongs. As the refugee farce unfolds, and as the lies pour in from Trump's team of bullshit mongers, it would be wonderful to return to business as usual. But that's not to be. Maddeningly, like all South African reporters in the past 30 years, about 98% of my work concerns the failure of the ANC to do even the basic work of governance with honesty and competence. I'd like to get back to that. But there's a braai happening. It's free for all. Which means we're the product. DM
