In a development that has shocked precisely no one with a passing familiarity with South Africa's crime statistics, Johannesburg has once again proven that its reputation for violence is not merely a tourism deterrent but a bloody reality. Twelve souls were summarily dispatched in a mass shooting, prompting the British High Commission to issue its customary advice: 'Extreme caution.' Because nothing says 'We've got this' like a diplomatic circular that reads like a survival guide for a zombie apocalypse.
Let us set the scene. It is Johannesburg, a city that wears its grit like a badge of honour. Here, the phrase 'load shedding' refers not only to scheduled power cuts but also to the sudden and permanent removal of citizens from the gene pool. The shooting occurred in a locale that will no doubt be described by police as 'a known hotspot for criminal activity,' which is bureaucratese for 'please don't go there unless you have a death wish and a full life insurance policy.'
Twelve dead. That's a dozen lives snuffed out to the sound of gunfire, a cacophony that has become the city's unofficial anthem. The police, in a masterstroke of detective work, are conducting a manhunt. The suspect, as is customary, is described as 'unknown' and 'armed and dangerous.' This is the journalistic equivalent of saying the sun is hot and water is wet. But we play the game, because the alternative is to admit that the whole affair is a grim farce.
Now, enter the British High Commission. They have issued an advisory: 'British nationals are advised to exercise extreme caution.' This is the diplomatic equivalent of shouting 'Fire!' in a crowded theatre and then handing out marshmallows. Extreme caution. As if the average British tourist, sipping a G&T in a hotel bar, needs a government memo to tell them that getting shot is bad for their health. But no, we must be told. We must be warned. Because between the Brexit chaos, the cost of living crisis, and the collapse of the NHS, the British government has time to state the bleeding obvious.
The irony is thick enough to cut with a cricket bat. Here you have a country where the murder rate is so high it has become a punchline, and yet the official response is a shrug and a 'please be careful.' Meanwhile, back in Blighty, we fret about the price of kale and whether the Wi-Fi is fast enough to stream Netflix. Connect the dots, dear reader. We live in a world where the advice is to 'avoid large gatherings' and 'stay vigilant' because someone, somewhere, has decided that life is cheap and liberty is a marketing slogan.
Let us call this what it is: a tragic miscalculation on the part of humanity. Twelve people dead. Families shattered. And what do we get? A headline. A brief flicker of outrage. And then we move on to the next outrage, because that is the modern condition: a relentless treadmill of horror, with no off switch.
As for the manhunt, one can only hope that the authorities are more effective than their press releases suggest. But experience suggests otherwise. So pour yourself a stiff one, gentle reader. Because the world is on fire, and all we have is gin and gallows humour to put it out.
