INLSA

Esther Lewis

DEAR Mr President, on behalf of all South Africans who have busy lives and short political attention spans and are irritated that most roads into the city have been closed… please shorten your speech.

Look, I know you’ve been waiting all year to give your State of the Nation address. It’s like anchoring the Oscars of politics.

So you’ve probably been taking notes on the side, jotting down memorable quotes, anecdotes and such and passed them on to your speech writers. And when they tried to cut them from the speech, you’ve probably threatened to go and get your umshini wam.

Your speech writers have more than likely worked on the masterpiece for months, and I am sure they will be on tenterhooks as you labour through it.

I’ve heard it’s the worst nightmare of spin doctors the world over, when their charge decides to veer off the path and freestyle.

And while I can’t be certain, I think I have you pegged, Mr President. Your trademark tells have become pretty obvious.

The first sign that you’re becoming impatient is when you famously give the nation the middle finger as you adjust your spectacles. It’s like you can’t help yourself. I’ve seen you struggle to use your index finger instead, but your middle finger always wins that tug of war.

I know it’s not the coolest look, but perhaps you could attach a tight elasticised band to your specs to keep them from slipping down, or chat to your optometrist about a custom-made-to-fit pair.

Soon after the inadvertent nation zapping, you pause and laugh. It’s a deep, from the belly, guttural, Father Christmas-like sound. It’s so infectious that your audience has no choice but to laugh along with (or at) you.

I’ve always wondered whether the laugh is out of disbelief at what you’re reading or if you’ve just remembered that you put your pet rock in the fridge instead of on the window sill.

Or perhaps your mind has separated itself from the monotony of what is coming out of your mouth, and you’ve just pictured the leader of an opposition party dressed in designer gear, but sporting holes in their socks. You toy with the idea of ordering the House to remove their shoes just to check.

As these thoughts float around in your head, you realise it’s time to spice things up a bit, give your spin doctors a heart attack and push your speech to the side.

Not that I blame you for free styling. At times, you have appeared to be on the verge of talking yourself into a sleep-induced coma.

What I hate about politicians is that way they have of unnecessarily drawing out their speeches. For every 30 seconds worth of meaningful points, there’s 10 minutes of boring rambling.

I’m not disputing that your speech about the state of our nation is important. But why must it be soooo loooong? Yes, the issues of job creation, climate change and corruption are of national importance. But surely there are ways of keeping them short and concise

I haven’t spoken to my editor yet, but I’m sure he won’t mind if our sub-editors – who, as many reporters will attest, do a brilliant job in slashing down the longest masterpiece to three paragraphs – give you and your people a crash course in cutting back on the word count.

Because really, Mr President, even when coupled with your quirky trademark mannerisms, the speech is only mildly entertaining for the first 10 minutes.

In the age of all things instant – messaging, Twitter, coffee, families – there isn’t much that can’t be reduced to concise bursts of 140 characters.

And if you feel like you need more time in the limelight, why not bust a few dance moves at the podium. That’s the kind of thing people like, the reason why those of us city dwellers who are not allowed to open their windows in fear of being mistaken for terrorist snipers and the ordinary man who is not allowed near Parliament Street on the day – actually tune in.

It’s to watch the side shows,

the real spectacle for us plebs: who’s looking elegant, and who looks like they’re trying out for the minstrels. Who’s had one Botox dose too many for the big day and who’s trying to trick the nation into believing they are not wearing a wig and who should have laid off the gravy before squeezing into the designer suit.

Clearly, the people want more bling bling and less blah blah.

The true state of our nation really is peculiar, Mr President. But I’m sure you already knew that.