Latest news with #SteveHofmeyr
IOL News
15 hours ago
- IOL News
To Temu, or not to Temu
From a harmless USB lamp to a chaotic online shopping spree, discover Gillian Schutte's tumultuous relationship with Temu, the online shopping platform that blurs the lines between necessity and excess. Image: IOL It began innocently enough. A quick browse. A USB lamp. Something cheap. Something functional. Just a little practical click to fix the minor chaos of my overlit, underpaid existence. Harmless, I thought. Necessary. Like tea bags or a water-saving showerhead. But let me tell you this: Temu is not harmless. Temu is the casino of capitalism. The stalker in orange fonts and flash deals. The algorithmic sugar daddy you didn't ask for, didn't trust but still flirted with in the dark hours of existential fatigue. From that one USB lamp came the slippery slope. Next minute, I'm knee-deep in camouflage netting, meant for my activist bunker or maybe just my living room—because at this point, what's the difference? It seemed sensible at the time. A digital panic-buy. Who wouldn't want a large swathe of camo netting in a country where Steve Hofmeyr has recently warned me, on X, that I'm 'in for a big surprise'? I figured I'd drape it over myself when the clan of bearded, belligerent boeremag come marching with their hatred, pitchforks, and boerewors. It's not just Steve I'm dodging. There are disgruntled farmers who take offence at being told their freehold farmland sits atop stolen bones. There are free market evangelists who foam at the mouth whenever I utter the words socialism, land audit, or state intervention. And then there's your run-of-the-mill online troll—probably sitting in Kempton Park, wearing a Springbok jersey, and wetting himself with fury over my existence. Camo netting felt... reasonable. But Temu doesn't stop at reasonable. It lures you further. It feeds off your fatigue. It knows your weaknesses and your desperate hopes. You need a pump for your green fish-farming pond? Temu knows. It offers you one for R39. You click. It arrives. It's the size of a broken Bic pen. There are no instructions. No box. Just vibes. You hold it in your hand and weep. Another time, I believed I'd scored a grass trimmer for R120. A real tool. Something I could fire up to tame the wild, post-apocalyptic weedscape around our house. What arrived? A grass trimmer head cover. A lonely orange helmet for the machine I didn't own. A metaphor for my relationship with Temu: all cover, no engine. And yet. And yet. I kept going. Because many times—many times—Temu delivers. You order a wind chime, and it chimes. You order a tapestry, and it actually hangs. You get something that works, and for one shining moment, capitalism feels like it could be romantic again. I've had as many satisfactory things arrive as I've had things that look absolutely nothing like the photos. These moments are real. And that's what makes it dangerous. Other times, you order a grape-coloured winter coat, and what arrives is hot pink. Not just pink. Weaponised pink. Worn over black, I resemble a walking Game Store clearance banner. The kind that screams 'We're closing down! All morals must go!' Then again, I do love the trio of baggy sports slacks, the quilted dungarees, and the smart watch or three that arrived exactly as described. But for every hit, there's a humiliating miss. Like the coloured climbing net. Don't ask why. I blame Temu's fluorescent whisperings. Maybe I thought it would be good for the grand children I don't have. Maybe I saw a future in circus arts. What arrived was a limp RGB palette rope masquerading as structure. No child should hang from that net. No adult should admit to owning it. It now lives twirled around my neck as a scarf. A scarf of shame. A failed loop of remorse. And still... Temu calls. With its chirpy little app. It's fake urgency. 'Only 1 left!' it screams at me while I'm on the toilet, on a Zoom call, or mid-existential crisis. 'Someone in Durban just bought the same self-watering pot as you!' it lies. 'Claim your free gift!' it yells. 'Spin the wheel!' it demands. It's like being in a toxic relationship with an overeager multi-level marketer. It promises you the world, then sends you a teaspoon shaped like a giraffe. Or a wig storage head. Or a collapsible potato basket. And let me be fair: Temu delivers with remarkable efficiency. Orders arrive within days. Duty fees are modest and predictable. They have logistics down to an art form. But like a narcissistic boyfriend with a god complex, Temu expects absolute loyalty in return. It shouts, 'I did this for you! I gave you a garlic peeler shaped like a hedgehog! I sent you silicone fridge liners in pastel!' — and now you owe it. Emotionally. Commercially. Spiritually. You must reward it with ten more purchases, a five-star rating, and at least one public display of affection in the form of social media shame. Sometimes, I dream that I've escaped. That I've returned to a dignified, offline life where I buy actual tools in actual stores with actual packaging. But then Temu sends me a coupon for R10 off a 500-pack of biodegradable earwax removers, and I am once again caught in the neon-lit web of doom. Because Temu is not just a store. It's a psy-op. It's an emotional collapse made visible. It's a vision of the end times where you survive not with weapons or food but with 36 silicone storage bags, a broken nail light, a plastic bonsai tree, and a small army of camo netting rolls. If you see me wandering the bushveld wrapped in mesh and muttering about lost parcels and white supremacy, don't worry. Just know I went to war—and the enemy wore orange. And shipped for free. Which reminds me, I have three 'free' Temu gifts arriving just as soon as I pay the import duties. Pray for me. Or send a therapist. Either way, Temu already knows. * Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and critical-race scholar known for her radical critiques of neoliberalism, whiteness, and donor-driven media. Her work centres African liberation, social justice, and revolutionary thought. ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
The South African
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The South African
Steve Hofmeyr defends K-word video: 'I need my words, flag back'
Steve Hofmeyr has defended a viral video of him saying that he wants the K-word and the old South African flag to return. This, amid his outrage that the struggle song Kill The Boer continues to be sung. The Afrikaans singer has often courted controversy over his views on racism, which he believes is directed at white South African farmers. Last week, a video of Steve Hofmeyr ranting about wanting to use the K-word went viral. On social media, many South Africans were shocked at the singer's desire to use openly racist symbols. On the X platform, one user claimed that Steve's comparison of the racial slur and the struggle song had no merit. @dramadelinquent posted: 'You know Steve Hofmeyr wanting to use the K word and the Apartheid rag because you're mad that the EFF sings songs about killing people, makes you no different to them'. The Afrikaans entertainer responded to the post: 'Yes. I'm an artist. I need my words back, as well as my songs, flags, history, monuments, and taboo expressions.' He continued: 'I'm a free speech absolutist (save for incitement to violence). Poets need to live where others don't care to look, said Ben Okri. I can't do that on prescribed notions'. Over the weekend, author Khaya Dlanga posted a video of Steve Hofmeyr ranting about his lack of freedom of speech. The video was initially uploaded on his Facebook account in March, when AfriForum had been denied an appeal by the Constitutional Court to declare the struggle song Kill The Boer hate speech. EFF leader Julius Malema continues to sung the song, despite mixed reactions from the public. Steve Hofmeyr raged in the video of his 'freedoms' being taken away, including a racial slur. He said, 'I want blackface back. The right to paint my face any colour I want. I want the K-word back, as well as every word that I had to remove from my vocabulary. I want cultural appropriation back….I want insults back… He added, 'I want songs and flags back. Is there such a place for us in the future? I hope so.' Let us know by leaving a comment below, or send a WhatsApp to 060 011 021 1 . Subscribe to The South African website's newsletters and follow us on WhatsApp , Facebook , X, and Bluesky for the latest news.
The South African
26-05-2025
- The South African
Steve Hofmeyr on choosing to STAY in SA amid 'white genocide'
Outspoken Afrikaans singer Steve Hofmeyr has clapped back at remarks that he should flee the country amid his claims of a 'white genocide' in South Africa. The entertainer and activist has been vocal about 'racial discrimination' against white South Africans. In recent years, Hofmeyr has come under fire for his views on the k-word and the old SA flag. On his social media accounts, Steve Hofmeyr has continued to post his controversial comments about the 'persecution' faced by white South Africans, particularly farmers. However, many of his posts have irked the public. When one X user asked Steve why he was still living in a country he believed endured 'white genocide', the singer recently responded: 'Because I can spend everything I make to safeguard my family. Most of my people can not'. Another asked him when 'white genocide' began. He responded: 'The moment South Africans, post 1994, were excluded and denigrated because of our race'. Like many South Africans, Steve Hofmeyr has experienced crime firsthand. In 2010, he spoke out about witnessing a robbery at a local KFC restaurant. Although he did not come into contact with the attackers, he brazenly chased the armed men in his car for several kilometres. In 2015, Hofmeyr's coastal holiday home in KwaZulu-Natal was robbed as he and his wife slept in their bedroom. The thieves made off with several of his possessions in the middle of the night, but the performer was dragged for his comments about them. He told the media: 'The stench [of them] still lingers in my home'. He added, 'Some people said I should have been shot and killed. My culture and family do not scale fences to rape the elderly at midnight. Those nasty comments boggle the mind, but they go to prove that, mostly, we don't have the mindset or civil sensibilities to make this a better country. Not as long as the criminal is glorified. In 2018, Steve Hofmeyr claimed that South Africans should own guns as a means of 'self-defense and protection' in 'the most violent rape and murder capital of be world'. Let us know by leaving a comment below, or send a WhatsApp to 060 011 021 1 . Subscribe to The South African website's newsletters and follow us on WhatsApp , Facebook , X, and Bluesky for the latest news.
The South African
25-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The South African
Steve Hofmeyr: 'I want the K-word back'
Afrikaans singer and activist Steve Hofmeyr has sparked backlash over a video of him raging over his inability to say the K-word, or use the old South African flag. The entertainer has often come under fire over his controversial views about race, politics, and crime in South Africa. In a video that has recently resurfaced and has sparked backlash on social media, Steve Hofmeyr speaks his mind on freedom of speech. When he uploaded the video on his Facebook account, AfriForum had been denied an appeal by the Constitutional Court to declare the struggle song Kill The Boer hate speech. EFF leader Julius Malema has often sung the song to mixed reactions from the public. Steve Hofmeyr raged in the video of his 'freedoms' being taken away, including a racial slur. He said: 'I want blackface back. The right to paint my face any colour I want. I want the K-word back, as well as every word that I had to remove from my vocabulary. I want cultural appropriation back….I want insults back… He added: 'I want songs and flags back – is there such a place for us in the future? I hope so'. On social media, South Africans had plenty to say… Some, like author Khaya Dlanga, were shocked. He posted on X: 'Steve Hofmeyr is upset that he can't use the K word without being criminally charged'. Others like @bitcoinboetza believed Steve's comments were also 'freedom of speech', like the song Kill The Boer. Like US President Donald Trump and Pretoria-born billionaire businessman Elon Musk, Steve Hofmeyr has been outspoken about South Africa's 'white genocide' against farmers. He's also publicly condemned Julius Malema for singing Kill The Boer and has supported Afrikaners who have sought 'refugee' status in the US. Steve posted on X: 'SA minorities have refugee status thanks to Malema's death-speech and Ramaphosa's race-hustle'. Let us know by leaving a comment below, or send a WhatsApp to 060 011 021 1 . Subscribe to The South African website's newsletters and follow us on WhatsApp , Facebook , X, and Bluesky for the latest news.
IOL News
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- IOL News
The Great Tsek: What a Meme Can Tell Us About White South Africa's Real Escape Plan
TikTok memes of Afrikaner panic distract from the real betrayal — the liberal white brain drain that quietly fled with privilege intact. Gillian Schutte exposes the projection economy of whiteness. Image: Supplied By Gillian Schutte South African humour has once again taken root on TikTok: white migration parody. These aren't real departure videos. They're satires, staged and edited by mostly middle-class white South Africans depicting Afrikaner "refugees" exiting the country hoping for a whiter, brighter future in America. In these clips, families from places like Brakpan or Boksburg pack up bakkies with Koo tins, whisper solemn goodbyes to their gardens, and strap confused boerbols into the front seat. A child in a Springbok jersey cries as the family heads for Texas. The captions read 'Goodbye Ouma, Hello Walmart' or 'Last Braai Before the Border.' They mock the idea of white panic — but with a particular target: those visibly unsettled, unskilled, and poorly equipped for the post-apartheid world. What the memes really parody — perhaps unintentionally — is a long-standing pattern of flight dressed up as foresight. The title these meme-makers don't always explain is The Great Tsek. Tsek, in township slang, is a riff on voetsek — the Afrikaans 'get lost,' reinterpreted as f**k off. And this is precisely what has unfolded over the last 30 years: a long, layered, racially coded f**k-off from the promises of democracy. TikTok memes of Afrikaner panic distract from the real betrayal — the liberal white brain drain that quietly fled with privilege intact. Gillian Schutte exposes the projection economy of whiteness. Image: Supplied The meme-makers themselves — often liberal whites living in Cape Town, Joburg's loftier enclaves, or abroad — aren't innocent observers. Besides appropriating a black term like they were its originators, they are, in many cases, the relatives of the original exodus: the liberal brain drain that quietly fled in the early 2000s. Those earlier departures weren't filmed. They were notarised. The First Great Tsek involved no bakkies, no tears, no Steve Hofmeyr soundtracks. Just bank transfers, EU passports, elite university placements, and farewell brunches in suburbs soon renamed for foreign consulates. These were the whites who had enthusiastically embraced the Mandela moment, benefited from post-apartheid appointments, property prices, and the glow of being progressive — and then left before transformation could rearrange the hierarchy too fully. Now, sipping flat whites in Vancouver, Berlin, or Perth, they share the latest TikTok parody, laughing at the working class Brakpan family panicking at the threshold of irrelevance. 'We're not like them,' they say — from safe distances, in sanitised democracies. But they are. Their performance is more discreet. Their fear was just better funded. This is textbook projection. Mock the thing you once were. Create distance from the part of yourself still invested in your fleeing. And flee they all did — from Die Swart Gevaar. No longer shouted through loudspeakers, the old apartheid fear now mutters itself into euphemisms: 'service delivery,' 'crime,' 'we had no future there.' The fear wasn't of violence — it was of governance. Of becoming irrelevant. Of no longer being the protagonist in the national story. AfriForum, of course, recognised the panic for what it was — useful. Faced with the growing embarrassment of 40,000 impoverished Afrikaners — living in informal settlements, outside of the racial myth of white economic success — they rebranded them as refugees. It was a clever narrative sleight of hand. The poor white problem became the persecuted white minority. Enter Trump. Primed by AfriForum's curated crisis, he expected to rescue stoic farmers — rugged, land-owning, God-fearing Calvinists. What he got was a loose assortment of unskilled, economically displaced white South Africans hoping that whiteness still had trade value. It did not. They became punchlines again — this time in the American meme economy. 'You're not coming here to own land,' one creator quipped. 'You're here to mow it.' Others were more blunt: 'You're replacing the Mexicans,' and from Black American creators, 'We won't be washing your underwear.' Meanwhile, the original liberal leavers remain untouched. They laugh from repurposed precincts in Melbourne or glassy co-working spaces in London. They repost the memes, relieved that someone else is now carrying the visible burden of white decline. This is the theatre of displacement. The poor white panic becomes a caricature. The liberal white exodus becomes invisible. What unites them isn't class or tone, but the impulse to tsjek. The memes are funny. The imagined garden gnome goodbyes. The dramatics about Idaho and replacing Boxers with Walmart. But the real theatre happened earlier — in embassies, in bank offices, in the offshoring of conscience. And Die Swart Gevaar, ever-morphing, ever-haunting, continues to animate both the satire and the silence. South Africa is left with the consequences — a thinning middle class, an unfinished national project, and a meme economy that disguises historic betrayal. And, in the end, whether they left with satire or suitcases, with Koo tins or capital gains, they all did the same thing: They all f**ked off in the end. * Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and critical-race scholar known for her radical critiques of neoliberalism, whiteness, and donor-driven media. Her work centres African liberation, social justice, and revolutionary thought. ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
