Latest news with #writer
IOL News
7 hours ago
- Politics
- IOL News
Liberation History: AfriForum's Desperate Bid to Distort Struggle Heritage
Then Deputy President Thabo Mbeki (R) hands over the African National Congress (ANC) submission to Archbishop Desmond Tutu, head of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), in Cape Town May on 12, 1997. Anyone who claims that singing "Kill the boer, Kill the farmer' is tantamount to declaring war against the Boers is irrational, unreasonable, and disingenuous, says the writer. Image: AFP Prof. Bheki Mngomezulu THE recent trip by President Cyril Ramaphosa and his delegation to America produced different results for different people. The official position from the government is that the trip was meant to restart trade relations between South Africa and America. As such, proponents of this view argue that the trip was a huge success. However, a counterview is that the trip caused more harm than good to South Africa's global image. According to this view, some of the utterances made at the Oval Office were unwarranted, factually flawed, and devoid of context. Apart from the questionable pictures of the graves which allegedly carried the bodies of Afrikaners killed in South Africa (who were not from South Africa), there were other developments which happened in that meeting. One of them was when Agriculture Minister John Steenhuizen told President Trump that the reason for the DA to join the coalition government led by Ramaphosa was solely to keep the EFF and MKP away from the Union Buildings. This raised questions about the honesty in the formation of the coalition government. The climax of the Oval Office meeting was when Trump played a video of Julius Malema singing his famous song 'Kill the Boer, the Farmer' and the other song which was sung by former President Jacob Zuma, which says 'Sizobadubula ngo mbayimbayi' [We are going to shoot them with artillery]. I will focus on Julius Malema's song because it is the one that has caused controversy. Even people who are supposed to know better fell into the trap of Trump's propaganda. The question becomes: does this song represent symbolic relevance or is it a violation of human rights and an instigator of racial violence? To answer this question, political expediency and political parochialism will not offer any assistance. Only objectivity, rationality, and context will assist in arriving at a credible conclusion. Firstly, this is a struggle song which was not composed by Malema. The late Peter Mokaba used to sing this song and dance but he never killed any Boer or Afrikaner. In fact, as he sang this song, no one went on a rampage killing Afrikaners following the song's lyrics. So, anyone who claims that singing this song is tantamount to declaring war against the Boers is irrational, unreasonable, and disingenuous. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ Secondly, there have already been rulings on the singing of this song. Between 2016 and 2019, Malema sang this song six times on different occasions. In 2020, Afriforum approached the Gauteng Equality Court asking it to declare the song hate speech. The court dismissed this claim. Exercising its right, AfriForum proceeded to the Supreme Court of Appeal to try its luck. To this organisation's surprise, on 24 May 2024, the Supreme Court dismissed AfriForum's appeal. In its judgement, the Court stated that 'Mr Malema was doing no more than exercising his right to freedom of expression.' It went further to implore AfriForum to see the song in its correct context. In a nutshell, the Court implicitly concluded that AfriForum was driven by political expediency when it laid charges against Malema, not to unite the nation. There was no intention to get justice. Instead, the motivating factor was for AfriForum to be seen as being politically relevant. Not even the Constitutional Court could agree with the argument advanced by Afriforum. It dismissed Afriforum's application for leave to appeal, arguing that the application 'bears no reasonable prospects of success.' Out of desperation, AfriForum approached President Ramaphosa asking him to condemn the singing of the song. The organisation was once again disappointed when Ramaphosa referred it to the courts which had already ruled on the matter. Given this history, a few questions arise. Why did Trump play Malema's video singing this song? Was his intention to prove that Afrikaners are being killed in South Africa or was he simply playing a mind's game to test Ramaphosa's delegation? To what extent did Ramaphosa and his team rise above such petty politics? Was the President correct in telling Trump that 'this is not the view of government' and that Malema's EFF was not part of the coalition government? Was this necessary? A nation which abandons its history is as good as dead. It is for this reason that some universities in America insist that regardless of the qualifications students are pursuing, they are forced to take some history modules. This is done to ensure that they do not operate in a vacuum but understand the historical context. Struggle songs are part of the South African heritage. They remind all of us about the history of this country. South Africa became a democracy in 1994. However, to this day, the song 'Mhla libuyayo kuyobe kunzima' [when our land comes back, it will be tough] is still being sung for different reasons. It continues to say 'kuyokhala uBotha, kuqhume umbayimbayi' [there will be a cry from Botha, and there will be an explosion of artillery].
IOL News
8 hours ago
- Business
- IOL News
It's time to rethink corporate giving in Africa
Corporates, non-profits and government must work together in coordinated, transparent and scalable ways if we're serious about lasting change, the writer says. Image: Armand Hough/Independent Newspapers Across Africa, well-meaning initiatives, designed in boardrooms, backed by big budgets and rolled out with fanfare, have long been positioned as a force for good. But what if, in trying to help, we're sometimes making things worse? In too many cases, CSI projects miss the mark: fostering dependence instead of empowerment, duplicating efforts already underway, or overlooking the very people they're meant to serve. As Africa reflects on transformation during Africa Month, it's time to ask harder questions about how and why, corporate giving can backfire. We've seen programmes that distribute food parcels without investing in food security, or those that introduce technology into schools without training teachers or ensuring the infrastructure exists to support it. These are not just inefficiencies, they are missed opportunities, and in some cases, they actively disempower communities. This is not to say that CSI is inherently flawed. But when it's not rooted in context, consultation and co-creation, it can do more harm than good. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ One of the most common missteps I've seen is designing projects for communities rather than with them. Too often, corporates decide what a school, clinic, or neighbourhood needs, without ever speaking to the school governing body, community leaders, or the people who live there. Even the best-resourced interventions can fall flat if they're out of step with local realities. In my view, there are five key principles that every CSI practitioner should treat as non-negotiable: research, consultation, co-creation, listening, and partnership. These may sound simple, but they require humility and a willingness to let go of control. Just because we have the resources doesn't mean we have all the answers. The result of bypassing this process is often what I call performative CSI: initiatives that look good in a press release but lack any meaningful or lasting impact. It's when we treat communities like passive recipients instead of equal partners. It's when we focus on meeting KPIs instead of solving real problems. And it's when we forget that behind every number in a dashboard is a person with dreams, struggles and potential. CSI in Africa must be about more than optics. We have a responsibility to confront the inequalities that still define too many lives, children who walk long distances to overcrowded schools, families without access to clinics, young people with no clear path to employment. Real impact means going beyond short-term gestures and investing in solutions that last. It means removing the everyday obstacles that chip away at people's dignity, potential and hope. That's why I believe we need to move toward collaborative, sector-wide approaches. The challenges we face, whether it's poverty, unemployment, education or access to healthcare – are too layered and too urgent for any one organisation to tackle alone. Corporates, non-profits and government must work together in coordinated, transparent and scalable ways if we're serious about lasting change. There are strong signs that the sector is beginning to shift. According to the Next Generation trends and insights research report 2025/2026 on the social, solidarity and impact economies of South Africa, future transformation should focus on improving sector effectiveness, strengthening local organisations, reducing duplication, and encouraging more sustainable, locally driven solutions. This includes enabling organisations to generate their own income and diversify funding models, ensuring they're not entirely reliant on donor capital. We also need to build the next generation of leaders: individuals and institutions who are equipped to respond to the rapidly evolving social and economic realities of our continent. Africa's problems are unique, and our solutions must be too. This Africa Month, I want to challenge my peers across the CSI and development space to ask harder questions. Not just 'how much did we give?' or 'how many people did we reach?' but rather, 'who did we speak to?' and 'what changed?' and also 'what do the communities themselves say they need next?' Show up with open ears and open minds, not just open wallets. The stakes are too high for us to get this wrong. If we want to be part of the solution, we must be willing to rethink the way we give – and, more importantly, the way we listen. Tshego Bokaba is the CSI manager at the Momentum Group Foundation. Tshego Bokaba, CSI manager at the Momentum Group Foundation. Image: Supplied.
Engadget
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Engadget
'28 Years Later' used 20 iPhones in tandem for some wild shots
It's no secret that 28 Years Later used iPhones to shoot parts of the film. Now its director, Danny Boyle, has discussed the use of iPhones for the film in more detail with IGN . The first film in the franchise, 28 Days Later , was shot on digital video, giving it a homemade feel. Boyle explained that he and writer Alex Garland got the idea from the fact that home video cameras were common at the time, and people would've shot videos with them if an apocalypse had indeed happened. Those cameras, of course, have since been replaced by smartphones. The movies used three special rigs for the iPhone sequences: One for eight cameras that one person can carry, another with 10 and another with 20. "I never say this, but there is an incredible shot in the second half [of the film] where we use the 20-rig camera, and you'll know it when you see it," Boyle told IGN . He described the 20-iPhone rig as "basically a poor man's bullet time," which is a visual effect that uses multiple cameras to freeze or slow down time. Think the scene in The Matrix , wherein Neo dodged bullets in super slow motion. Doyle said that the 20-camera rig can be attached to cranes or dollies and give you 180 degrees of vision of an action. In editing, you can choose from any of the footage each iPhone takes to, say, move between perspectives or jump forward and backward. For 28 Years Later, the team used the rig for violent scenes to emphasize their effect. "For a moment the audience is inside the scene, the action, rather than classically observing a picture," Doyle explained. In addition to the iPhones, the filmmakers also used drones, cameras attached to actors and even farm animals to achieve an immersive feel for its 2.76:1 widescreen aspect ratio. They decided on the aspect ratio to create a sense of unease, since you'd have to keep scanning the screen to see potential threats coming from the sides.
Condé Nast Traveler
a day ago
- Health
- Condé Nast Traveler
Soaking in a Slower Pace of Life at Gero Onsen
This is part of Uncovering Japan, a collection of stories that spotlight the lesser known gems that belong on your Japan itinerary, offering everything from a wellspring of local craft and a vibrant street-food culture to traditional wellness. Read more here. From the perennially roiling waves of Kanagawa's seas to Mount Fuji's snow-capped seat in the sky, some of Japan's most iconic natural sights claim their status through their striking appearances. But peer past those wonders, since immortalized odes and ukiyo-e woodblock prints, to find Gero, a quiet onsen town in Gifu prefecture with the placid, pastoral charm of a Studio Ghibli movie. Though the town may not seem like much upon first look, it's part of a celebrated trinity of hot springs dating back to the 17th-century Edo period, when prominent poet Hayashi Razan first dubbed Kusatsu, Arima, and Gero's hot springs the best in the country. Ever since, generations of locals have sought to experience the legendary waters for themselves. Tokyo-based chef, sommelier, and writer Yukari Sakamoto has been making the four-and-a-half hour journey to Gero every year since the '80s. Below, she shares why she comes back time after time to soak in the waters, plus her favorite things to do in Gero, and how she makes the most of her time at the onsen town. Gero Onsen's mountain-nestled main town lights up at night. The town's 13 locally maintained public baths source their water from volcanic origin, particularly from Mount Kusatsu-Shirane. Gifu Prefecture Tourism Federation Gero, the Goldilocks onsen Kusatu, Arima, and Gero all possess distinctive charms that make for three unique onsen experiences. Kusatsu sits in a remote region of Gunma prefecture, a little over 100 miles north of Tokyo. 'It's like, once you're there, you're there, you're in the middle of the wilderness,' says Sakamoto. The town's 13 locally maintained public baths source their water from volcanic origin, particularly from Mount Kusatsu-Shirane. As a result, the springs range from cloudy to clear depending on their acidity and mineral composition, properties which were championed by 19th-century physician to the imperial family Erwin Bälz for their seeming health benefits, ushering in a new wave of popularity for the onsen during the 1800s. Located about an hour's drive to the southeast of Kusatsu, Arima has a far less demanding transit. The onsen is known for its famous duo of golden (kinsen—named after the sienna hue of the iron-rich water) and silver (ginsen—which is actually colorless) waters and being one of the oldest known onsens in the country with a history tracing back at least 1,300 years. 'The onsen is nice, but it's in quite an urban area, so the surroundings aren't quite as bucolic,' says Sakamoto. For an onsen that is conveniently located and immersed in natural scenery, Sakamoto finds that Gero strikes the just-right balance. 'What I love about Gero is that you're in the Japanese Alps,' she says. 'You're located inside a valley with mountains on both sides and a river running between them.' From Tokyo, Gero is just two trains away, with the passage after Nagoya being Sakamoto's particular favorite as rolling hills gradually transition into the mountainside and the river runs parallel. Gero Onsen's public foot bath, right next to the city's main bridge, sees locals stopping daily to soak their feet in the healing waters. Gero's waters leave an inimitable impression. 'We say in Japanese, tsuru tsuru,' Sakamoto says, 'You sit in the water, and after two or three minutes, you start rubbing your skin, and you feel silky. Even after you've gotten out of the onsen and you're dried up, you still feel that silkiness.' The characteristic custard-smooth feeling the water leaves visitors with is owed to its high alkalinity. Sitting around 9.2 on the pH scale, the water takes on a gently exfoliative, soap-like property. Gero's waters leave an inimitable impression. 'We say in Japanese, tsuru tsuru. You sit in the water, and after two or three minutes, you start rubbing your skin, and you feel silky. Even after you've gotten out of the onsen and you're dried up, you still feel [it].' Tokyo-based chef, sommelier, and writer Yukari Sakamoto The joys of taking things slow in Gero The onsen is a nearly year-round destination, though Sakamoto cautions against visiting in the summertime as it gets a bit too hot to fully immerse in a warm onsen experience. 'Once you get to the city, there are many baths where you can take your shoes off, soak your feet,' Sakamoto says, "and there are always the onsens, the hot springs at the ryokan or the hotel that you're staying at, but there's also a public foot bath that's on the river.' Sitting right next to the city's main bridge, she says its part of the area's everyday life to see somebody stop to soak their feet in the waters.
Telegraph
a day ago
- Business
- Telegraph
‘All my teeth are gone': Squid Game's creator on the toll of making the biggest show on Netflix
It is impossible to overstate the success of Squid Game. The brilliant, bloody South Korean drama – in which hundreds of financially desperate individuals compete, in a sequence of lethal challenges, for a multimillion-pound prize – grabbed the attention of viewers across the world with its bizarre combination of playground games and violent deaths. Subtitled, made on a comparatively small budget and released with next to no fanfare in September 2021, the first series became a surprise hit and remains Netflix's most-watched show to date. The follow-up, which arrived on Boxing Day 2024, was instantly devoured by viewers all around the world. The show's triumph, however, came at no small personal cost to Hwang Dong-hyuk, its 54-year-old creator, writer and director. After the first series, he revealed that the strain of getting Squid Game on to the screen had left him so stressed that his teeth had begun to come loose and, one by one, fall out. So, on the eve of the third series (released on Netflix next month), I cannot resist asking Hwang how his remaining teeth are holding up. 'I lost two more,' he sighs. 'I'm still waiting for the implants.' How many teeth has he now lost in total? 'I guess 10 or 11.' One of the reasons the pressure of making the smash-hit show falls so squarely on Hwang's shoulders is that he chooses to work alone, to prevent his singular vision from being diluted by committee. 'I don't think it's ever crossed my mind to ask for help in the process,' he tells me. 'I knew it was going to be very challenging, but I went into it thinking that it's just what has to be done.' It hasn't been all bad news for Hwang, of course. Thanks to the monster success of Squid Game, he finds himself, in stark contrast to his childhood, comfortably well off. Alongside Parasite's Oscar-winning Bong Joon Ho and Oldboy's Park Chan-wook, he can also now consider himself one of Korea's most in-demand auteurs. The new series will bring to an end the story of Seong Gi-hun, aka Player 456 (played by Lee Jung-jae), the idealist who outlasted 455 other contestants to triumph in the first Squid Game, but re-entered the death match in series two in an attempt to bring down the system from within. 'It's been quite a long journey, and a very challenging one, too,' Hwang tells me. 'So I'm very happy to be able to conclude it.' The action picks up where the previous series left off, when a group of players (led by Gi-hun) launched an insurrection against the villainous Front Man and the others in control of proceedings. This being Squid Game, the players are of course defeated and those who have not died in the firefight are chucked back into the competition. Having seen the first half of the new series, I can confirm that some of the games that feature in it are among the most brutal Hwang has yet devised, complete with highly charged face-offs between players and more than one moment that will make viewers gasp. There is also a brief but significant use of a Cliff Richard song. It all promises to lead to a final showdown between Gi-hun and the Front Man, who is himself a former winner who stayed on to control the Squid Game on behalf of the sadistic international investors who bankroll the slaughter. Hwang laughs when I ask him if Netflix had wanted him to extend Squid Game beyond a third series. 'I don't think they're going to say no if I say I want to do it, but so far, nobody has said, 'Please make more,'' he confirms. 'I don't have any more stories that I want to tell, but, as the saying goes, never say never.' Hwang feels an affinity with his characters, having struggled for years to make ends meet. His father, a journalist, died of stomach cancer when Hwang was five, and throughout his childhood his mother would take odd jobs to support him, his brother and grandmother. He has described the family as being 'very poor for a very long time'. The idea that eventually led to Squid Game came to him in 2009, shortly after the financial crisis hit South Korea. But it took more than a decade – during which time he established himself as one of Korea's leading filmmakers, topping the domestic box office with Silenced (2011) and The Fortress (2017) – before Netflix finally took a punt on his series. Hwang speaks good English, having studied at the University of Southern California and spent a few years living in Los Angeles; I suspect he has the linguistic skills, if not the confidence, to dispense with the interpreter. He laughs again when I ask if he feels closer to the optimism of Gi-hun or the cynicism of the Front Man when considering the state of humanity, before replying in rapid-fire Korean. 'You know, I used to be very optimistic,' he says. 'I had a lot of trust, empathy and compassion; that is why Gi-hun is my protagonist. But I have to say, while creating Squid Game and looking around the world, seeing what's happening, it's true that I've become more pessimistic. I began to ask myself, 'Can we stop climate change? Are we, as a species, going to one day agree to reduce CO2 emissions and turn to green energy? Are we willing to make that sacrifice?' And I found the answer to be, 'No', because we are very selfish, right? We are only focused on our own gains, our own wealth, and we are going to drive ourselves into ruin.' He adds: 'I do feel I'm quite like Gi-hun, and in season three, you will see him continue his struggle not to lose hope. And I think for me as well, every day, I am also struggling, on my own, not to lose hope in humanity.' One prominent theme that runs through the second and third series of Squid Game is the limitations of democracy. At the end of each round, the players are given the opportunity to bring the games to an end – a majority vote would stop the bloodshed – but the greedy and avaricious invariably triumph, terrorising the rest into continuing. Is Hwang suggesting that democracy is a flawed system? 'I think that when it comes to representative democracy, there's really no way other than to follow the majority vote,' he says. 'But I continue to ask the more fundamental question, 'Is the majority vote always the right choice?' Especially for countries where the party or the person who is chosen as a result of the majority vote gets to hold onto power for so many years.' A single election result, he suggests, 'can affect too many things', ultimately 'creating even harsher divisions among people'. That is especially true in Korea, the leadership of which Hwang characterises as an 'imperial presidency' that 'dominates everything for years'. There was unprecedented chaos last December when the country's president, Yoon Suk Yeol, declared martial law and, after a huge public outcry, was removed from office. We are speaking in April, shortly after Donald Trump's 'liberation day', on which the US president upended the global economic order by levying tariffs in his quest to Make America Great Again. Trump is the epitome of a divisive politician: I ask if Hwang sees him as a Front Man type, who has orchestrated his own global version of Squid Game, in which everybody is out for themselves? Once more, he laughs. 'It's not right for me to make that direct comparison with the current president in power,' he says. Besides, 'I have to visit the United States quite often and you know how they are getting trickier issuing their visas... So why don't we return to this subject after [Trump] has left office?' That is not a 'no'. It's hard not to see in Squid Game's dystopian scenario a critique of late-stage capitalism – the heavily indebted masses are forced to descend to unimaginable depths in pursuit of money, while billionaires look on and laugh at their misfortune. It is not without a certain irony, then, that the show itself has become such a commercial juggernaut, spawning a spin-off reality show, merchandise lines and live experiences. Hwang sees no contradiction there. 'Squid Game is not a textbook, right? It's not a government-financed public announcement,' he argues. 'We went into it wanting to create something that would do well commercially and make people want to subscribe to Netflix, and it is a product of that. Its content happens to be critical of the current things that we see in society. Regarding Netflix's commercialisation of the IP, I do not object to it. I have no negative emotions about that. I want to make it clear that the message of the show is not a full-force rejection of capitalism itself.' Nevertheless, he adds, 'it is time for us to put a halt to the excessive chase for further growth. Look at what we have neglected along the way, and also look at how there is no systemic or institutional safety net for those who become losers of the limitless competition in today's capitalist society.' As for what Hwang is planning next, he says, 'I'm just exhausted with all my teeth being gone, so I'm really focusing on trying to recover my body and my mind.' He will admit, however, that he has both a new film and a television series in the works – and, although he is reluctant to reveal too many details, it sounds as though he is not yet ready to leave behind the brutality that defined Squid Game. 'The film is about events in the near future. It's based on the conflict between the younger generation and the older generation,' he says. 'The premise is that, as the environment becomes worse and worse, we have to get rid of half of humanity.' It hardly sounds like light entertainment. When I ask if Hwang has ever considered writing something more uplifting, he directs me towards Miss Granny (2014), his lighthearted domestic hit (available now on Netflix), which sees a woman in her 70s magically finding herself back in the body of a 20-year-old. 'For my future projects and the things that I'm tossing around right now, there is still going to be romance, fun and comedy,' he insists, 'no matter how bleak the theme may be.'
