Here’s a great piece of in-depth journalism into Jeffry Picower, a June profile of Jeffry Picower, the 67-year-old businessman and philanthropist who reaped billions from Bernard Madoff’s Ponzi scheme and who was found dead in his pool in Palm Beach, Florida, recently. The piece is from ProPublica, an independent, non-profit newsroom in the US that produces investigative online journalism in the public interest. Click here to go to there.

By Jake Bernstein, ProPublica – June 23, 2009 12:28 pm EDT

Jeffry Picower is alleged to have taken in $5.1 billion as a result of fraudulent returns from Madoff accounts. (Courtroom rendering of Madoff trial/Christine Cornell/AFP/Getty Images; Photo of Picowers portrait/Ryan Mark)

It is rare these days to see Bernard Madoff’s name in print unaccompanied by the word “Ponzi.” Yet recent allegations raise the possibility of one key difference between Madoff’s crimes and those of legendary con artist Charles Ponzi. While Ponzi’s scam was under way, Ponzi himself was its biggest beneficiary. It now appears that the biggest winner in Madoff’s scheme may not have been Madoff at all, but a secretive businessman named Jeffry Picower.

Between December 1995 and December 2008, Picower and his family withdrew from their various Madoff accounts $5.1 billion more than they invested with the self-confessed swindler, according to a lawsuit  filed by the trustee who is trying to recover money for those Madoff defrauded.

In contrast, shortly after he confessed, Madoff declared his household net worth to be between $823 and $826 million, according to court documents. While the Madoffs clearly lived opulently, no evidence has emerged that their combined assets and expenditures approached the amount the Picower family is alleged to have withdrawn from the scheme.

In an era when billions of dollars are being tossed about in financial collapses and government bailouts, remarkably little attention has been paid to Jeffry Picower’s extraordinary success with Bernie Madoff. If Picower has penetrated the popular consciousness at all, it is as a Madoff victim. The victim narrative is buoyed by testimonials from the nonprofits who received funding from his charitable foundation – which quickly closed on the heels of the swindler’s confession. For this reason, ProPublica decided to take a closer look at both Jeffry Picower and the complaint filed against him by Madoff trustee Irving Picard.

Fortunately for the trustee and the federal investigators presently swarming over the case, Madoff apparently kept detailed notes of communications between his office and his clients. But despite this documentary evidence, which is cited but not provided in court documents, Picard’s complaint raises more questions than it answers. Above all, what was the exact relationship between the two men? The complaint is larded with the legal catch-all phrase, “knew or should have known,” to describe Picower’s cognizance of Madoff’s fraud, but the intricacies of the relationship are left to the imagination.

The complaint states that the Picowers were beneficiaries of the Ponzi scheme for more than 20 years. The withdrawals listed between 1995 and 2008 reveal a pattern of large quarterly disbursements, transferred to Picower-controlled accounts by check or sometimes wire, that peak in 2003. Three years later something happens that causes the amount to drop precipitously. It recovers slightly the following year, but the highest-flying days are over for good.

One question is the role that Picower’s charitable giving played in all of this. The amount Picower withdrew for his foundation is separate from the quarterly withdrawals for his personal accounts. During the 1995-2008 time span, Picower took out about $291 million from Madoff for the foundation account. During the same period, the foundation doled out more than $235 million in donations, according to tax forms.

Perhaps the most pertinent question: If Picower withdrew $5.1 billion in “profit” from Madoff, where did all the money go? The Picowers own a home in Palm Beach that is appraised at a little over $28 million. They also have a 28.4-acre compound in Connecticut valued at $4.5 million. A search of numerous online sources, both aggregate databases and county property records for the couple, their daughter, and the companies named in the complaint, reveals few other major assets. If someone needed the skills to hide billions of dollars, few would be better equipped than Picower, an attorney and accountant who has been described as a “tax shelter expert.” Even so, it’s curious our search did not even uncover a boat or plane under the Picower name.

Messages left for Picower and his wife Barbara requesting comment for this story were not returned. Their lawyer, William Zabel, declined to comment to ProPublica on the Madoff matter. Earlier, Zabel told The Wall Street Journal that the couple “were in no way complicit in” Madoff’s scheme.

Emailed questions to David Sheehan, an attorney at Baker & Hostetler who is working alongside Picard on the case, went unanswered.

Picower, 67, began his career as an accountant and lawyer in New York but seems to have made much of his fortune as an investor in the medical industry. He has avoided media interviews and, with a few notable exceptions, succeeded in keeping a low profile. If the Picowers were recognized at all, prior to their Madoff notoriety, it was through praise for their philanthropy. Yet even here, their ties to Madoff loomed large. The growth of their largest foundation was attributed to their Madoff investments. Madoff himself served as a trustee on another Picower foundation.

The court-appointed trustee makes a powerful, albeit still largely circumstantial, case in court filings that Picower knew Madoff’s fund was illegitimate. Although Madoff ostensibly produced eerily consistent 10-12 percent annual returns for his clients, the returns he provided Picower were other worldly:

* In 14 instances between 1996 and 2007, a group of Picower trading accounts experienced annual returns of more than 100 percent. On 25 occasions, the annual return exceeded 50 percent. During this same period, the biggest annual gain in either the Dow Jones Industrial Average or the S&P 500 was 31 percent, for the S&P in 1997. The S&P 500’s annual average for that period was slightly under 9 percent.
* The annual rate of return for two of Picower’s regular trading accounts in the four years between 1996 and 1999 ranged from about 120 percent to more than 550 percent annually.
* In 1999, one account earned 950 percent.

Picower belonged to a select group of Madoff investors who received souped-up returns. A Wall Street Journal story published in May cited unnamed sources saying that prosecutors were looking into eight investors who appear to have received special treatment from Madoff. Among the eight named, Picower seems to have withdrawn the most money, with the bulk of it coming from an account called “Decisions, Inc.” According to the Madoff trustee’s court filings, “the account reflected little trading activity and relatively few holdings,” yet Picower took hundreds of millions out of it. At the time of Madoff’s arrest, the account had a reported negative net cash balance of more than $6 billion.

At the beginning of each quarter, the Picowers received sums that grew from an annual total of $330 million in 1996 to $1 billion in 2003. These withdrawals were divided into odd numbers spread over various accounts. Added together, they usually equaled large even sums. For example, on January 2, 2003, Picower withdrew $1,378,852 from his account Jln Partnership. Yet when withdrawals across all accounts were totaled for that day, they amounted to precisely $250 million.

Picower’s quarterly withdrawals reached their zenith in 2003 and then decreased by half the next year, eventually dropping to their lowest point in 2006. For some reason, the quarterly withdrawals totaled an uneven $16,975,422 in 2006, only to rebound to exactly $40 million in 2007.

Picower’s extraordinary gains do not appear to have been achieved at random. The trustee’s complaint details how Picower, often acting through a subordinate, ordered up “returns” which Madoff’s office then delivered. In some cases, Picower is alleged to have requested backdated returns for trades or sales of securities.

* On April 18, 2006, Picower wired $125 million to Madoff to open a new account. Madoff’s office began “purchasing” securities in the account, but “it backdated the vast majority of these purported transactions to January 2006″ when the stock market was at its lowest for the period, according to the complaint. Twelve days later, the net equity value of the account was $164 million, a gain of $39 million – or more than 30 percent – in less than two weeks.
* The complaint details conversations between Picower associate April Freilich and Madoff’s office beginning around May 14, 2007, when Freilich stated that the Picower Foundation needed gains during January and February of 2006, a year earlier.
* On May 18, Freilich specified that the foundation needed “$20 mil in gains” and “want[ed] 18% for year[] 08 appreciation” for January and February of that year. Five days later, Freilich changed the amount to $12.3 million. Subsequent statements reflected gains of $12.6 million.
* On December 22, 2005, Picower or Freilich allegedly faxed a letter to Madoff dated December 1, directing him to sell specific holdings. The statement for that month reflects that the sales were finalized on December 2, a process that typically takes three days. The clues that the letter was back-dated: A fax with the tell-tale December 22 date and an attached portfolio appraisal dated December 16 that included the positions that were supposedly “sold.”
* On or around December 29, 2005, Freilich allegedly faxed a letter to Madoff asking for $50 million in gains across certain accounts. Subsequent statements generated by Madoff for the accounts show stock sales, presumably to satisfy the request, that were supposedly recorded around December 8 and 9, 2005, approximately three weeks prior to Freilich’s letter.

Who is Jeffry Picower?

The Picowers’ generosity to deserving charities, particularly in New York, Florida, and Massachusetts, has earned them admiration and respect. However, the image belies a more complex reality.

The Picowers gave to a host of worthy causes from the Children’s Aid Society to the New York City Ballet, but Jeffry Picower’s passion centered on health issues, particularly funding for medical research. On December 1, 2005, the couple made a rare public appearance at a ceremony at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to dedicate a new center to study the brain, the Picower Institute for Learning and Memory. The Picowers’ gift of $50 million, spread over five years, was the single largest from a private foundation in the school’s history. In a video of the ceremony, Nobel Prize winning Japanese scientist Susumu Tonegawa told the crowd that without the Picowers there would be no institute. The Picowers stood by silently as Tonegawa unveiled a portrait of the couple to conclude the ceremony.

The gift to MIT was the largest single donation to an outside entity the Picower Foundation had ever made, according to tax forms the foundation filed. Prior to late 1995, when Madoff trustee Picard’s records start tracking Picower’s Madoff activity, the Picower Foundation was relatively small in size and scope. At year’s end in 1994, it had assets of just under $75 million and had donated $375,754. By 2007, it was reporting about $958 million in assets and about $23.4 million in donations for the year.

Picower’s attention to cutting-edge medicine was the sole focus of a second foundation, The Picower Institute for Medical Research, created to find cures for human diseases. He launched the Institute in 1991 with a $10 million donation from the Picower Foundation. Madoff served as a trustee of the Institute.

In 2001, the St. Petersburg Times revealed that Picower used both his foundations and a private corporation called PharmaSciences, of which he was the majority shareholder, to gain control of a potentially lucrative medical discovery. In 1999, Picower merged PharmaSciences with a for-profit spinoff of his institute called Cytokine Networks, essentially negotiating with himself. The merged company called Cytokine PharmaSciences had the rights to develop a new drug that could help minimize such illnesses as arthritis and multiple sclerosis. The newspaper raised the question of whether Picower had shortchanged his nonprofit in the deal.

An IRS audit concluded that the Picower Foundation had not jeopardized its tax status or incurred extra liability during the period in question. The Foundation’s lawyer William Zabel provided ProPublica with a letter from the IRS dated September 2006 that he said “cleared the Foundation.” Addressed to Barbara Picower, the letter is from the IRS’ Office of Exempt Organizations and formally accepts the Foundation’s tax returns. Zabel also said that shares Picower received from the merger were given to other charitable organizations.

The publicity-shy Picower is no stranger to lawsuits or regulators, a trip through several decades of legal and regulatory filings reveals. In 1984, the SEC cited him for a late disclosure over how much he owned in a company called Bradford National Corporation. The SEC filing alleged that Picower was part of a scheme to take over the company.

A year later Picower had to pay out a $21-million settlement when shareholders sued over the collapse of Physicians Computer Network. Picower controlled 45 percent of the stock and chaired the company before it went belly up. In 1989, Picower paid an undisclosed settlement over a questionable tax shelter he helped set up years earlier for a client. In 1990, it was Picower’s turn to recover money – from a settlement involving infamous insider trader Ivan Boesky. Picower had been one of his investors.

Perhaps the most revealing case against Picower was a lawsuit filed for failure to pay for renovations on his New York office. Picower alleged that general contractor McHugh, DiVincent Alessi had done such a bad job on his office that the toilets didn’t even flush properly, according to Jeremy Morley, the firm’s lawyer at the time. Rather than take Picower at his word, the judge decided the jury members should see for themselves. Arriving by city bus from the courtroom, the judge, with jury in tow, made a surprise visit to Picower’s office.

“The jury wandered around, looking at the office, testing the toilet,” Morley said. “They quickly realized that the case was full of crap in more ways than one.”

The judge awarded Morley’s client what Picower owed them and some of their attorney fees, according to the lawyer.

Picower’s legal and regulatory history was outlined in an article by Forbes Magazine. The 2002 article, which didn’t mention Picower’s activities with Madoff, said Picower was “worth at least $300 million.” That same year, the trustee reports, Picower’s quarterly withdrawals from Madoff totaled $895 million.

* ProPublica Research Director Lisa Schwartz and Kitty Bennett contributed to this report.

Popularity: 6% [?]

By FAATIMAH HENDRICKS

Although I am just over two decades old I can now say to teenagers and little kids “When I was a girl” or “when I was a little child” or even “In MY day”.

Times have changed and is still in the process of changing. With a teenage brother and a sister who hasn’t reached the double digits yet, I can see this.

When I was at primary school I played Hopscotch. Who remembers jumping around from block to block? I played marbles with the boys during interval (and I beat them most times, might I add). I played Red Rover with them (and I am proud to say I out ran them).

I played with a spinning top, perhaps the action is better known as “kapping tol”. I loved my Coca Cola yoyo! I played Buck Raages. I played Kennetjie (that’s the one where you throw the sticks, right?).

And while I was an only child I played “school school” with my imaginary students. I even gave them a hiding when they didn’t listen to me!

I’m from the era where I got a hiding at primary school. And my parents encouraged my teachers! And I had to take it like a woman. Now the kids are attacking the teachers. And what comes out of these kiddies’ mouths are “you have no right to hit me”, “it’s abuse”, “I will take you to the police”. Oh, how times have changed.

My brother came along and he played with marbles and spinning tops for some years in primary school. Soon after it fizzled out. And then I never saw or heard of kids playing with them. I don’t recall him ever having a real yoyo, or being able to swing one properly.

Now, I’m not sure if this is because my bro and sis go to “white” schools and I went to a “coloured” school… or what? I will tackle race and “white areas” and “coloured areas” on another day. That’s a heavy topic.

My sister arrived on the planet and she has never owned a yoyo or a tol. She doesn’t know how to play all the hopscotch games and she has never played “school school” or “housie housie” on her own.

Now they come home from school and occupy their time with the internet and online games. Lil sis even has her own email address! And she so wishes she had a Facebook account. But I insisted that FB is not for little girls. Can’t have my angel be exposed to stalkers!

On another note. Are there still pen-pal columns in magazines? I used to look for the ideal pen-pal in People magazine when I was about 11. I never actually got round to finding that person because I sooooo wasn’t going to give my address! Yes, I am paranoid. I know.

Do people actually still look for pen-pals? And post letters? All you need to do now is have Twitter and Facebook accounts and randomly follow/add people. And voila! You instantly have friends from all across the globe. No need to go hunting for them anymore.

I can proudly say that I have had the experience of licking a stamp and sticking it on a letter a few times before. And then putting the letter in that red box. I wonder how often people still do that and how often Postman Pat empties that red box. And I wonder how many children “of today” have licked stamps.

I’m really not even on the planet for very long, yet I can talk about Chappies bubblegum being 10c and Wilson blocks being 20c. Now they are 30c and 60c, if I remember correctly. Or is 711 being skelm? Do you still get 50c chips?

Ok, I know the price differences aren’t, like, major. But at least I can say “When I was a girl…”

* Faatimah Hendricks is a Cape Town journalist, blogger and honours student. Click here to go to her blog.

Popularity: 11% [?]

By Christopher Flavelle, ProPublica – October 12, 2009 9:59 am EDT

When US President Barack Obama took office and ordered the detention center at Guantanamo closed by next January, the biggest challenge was supposed to be the hard cases. Those were the ones in which the detainees were too dangerous to be let go but in which the evidence was insufficient for an American court, or had been obtained through torture, or would endanger national security if it became public. But a case decided last month in a Washington, D.C., federal court shows that for the Obama administration, the far easier cases—in which a judge has ordered a detainee released because there’s no evidence he poses a danger—can also be hard.

On Sept. 17, Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly ordered the release of Fouad Al Rabiah, a Kuwaiti detained at Guantanamo since 2002. She cited the complete lack of evidence justifying his detention. Kuwait is willing to take Al Rabiah back. Yet nearly a month later, he is still languishing at Guantanamo, along with at least 16 other detainees who have likewise been ordered released by a judge. By contrast, no more than 13 of the detainees ordered released have actually left Guantanamo. As the Obama administration telegraphs that it will probably miss its January deadline for closing Guantanamo, these cases raise the question of how much the government is even trying to place detainees.

Kollar-Kotelly found that the government had no grounds to keep holding Al Rabiah, a 50-year-old aviation engineer. The government alleged that Al Rabiah “provided material support to the Taliban and Al Qaida,” but the judge ruled that the evidence against him was “surprisingly bare,” consisting almost exclusively of confessions that even Al Rabiah’s own interrogators didn’t believe. The judge also found that Al Rabiah was subjected to “abusive techniques that violated both the Army Field Manual and the 1949 Geneva Convention[s].” She ordered the government to facilitate his release “forthwith,” writing, “If there exists a basis for Al Rabiah’s indefinite detention, it most certainly has not been presented to this court.”

But David Cynamon, one of Al Rabiah’s lawyers, says that the DoJ has refused to tell even him whether his client has been cleared for release. (I called, and they wouldn’t tell me, either.) “I’ve learned that DoJ has to be hit with a two-by-four before they will do anything voluntarily re[garding] Gitmo,” Cynamon wrote in an e-mail.

The government has 60 days to decide whether to appeal; Dean Boyd, a DoJ spokesman, told me no decision has been made about that. (Of the 30 cases in which a federal judge has ruled that a detainee be released, the government has filed an appeal for two of them.)

Even without an appeal, the government could continue to hold Al Rabiah. In February, the Obama administration created  the Guantanamo Detainee Review Task Force to determine which detainees may be safely released or transferred to another country, a process independent of the federal court cases. Because the government doesn’t release the task force’s rulings, it’s impossible to know whether it has decided that some detainees who have won their court cases should be kept in detention. Miami Herald reporter Carol Rosenberg wrote  recently that the task force has cleared two Kuwaitis at Guantanamo to be released, but the Department of Justice won’t say whether Al Rabiah is one of them. The secrecy makes it that much harder to hold the administration accountable.

Other detainees in Al Rabiah’s situation have waited months for their release. On May 4, a federal judge ordered the release of Alla Ali Bin Ali Ahmed, a Yemeni detainee whom the government charged was part of the Taliban or al-Qaida. The judge in his case found that the government had “utterly failed to present evidence” to support its claim. But despite the court’s order on May 4 that Ahmed be released “forthwith,” he was not returned to Yemen until Sept. 26—four months and 22 days later. Yasin Muhammed Basardh, another Yemeni, was ordered released in April but remains at Guantanamo pending the government’s appeal. Meanwhile, 13 Chinese Uighur detainees are still in Guantanamo, a full year after they were ordered released, as our government looks for a third country—probably Palau —that will take them and where they will agree to go. (For more on the status of detainees who have had their cases decided in U.S. courts, check out this ProPublica interactive chart.) The Department of Justice announced Friday that two more detainees had been released. One of them had won his court case; the DoJ will not reveal the identity of the second man.

According to the New York Times, Obama administration officials worried that even if Ahmed was not dangerous when he was first detained, Guantanamo itself might have made him so, turning him against the United States. If genuine, that concern must apply to every one of the 221 prisoners who remain in Guantanamo—whatever the strength of the evidence against them.

* This article is courtesy of ProPublica,  an independent, non-profit newsroom in the US that produces investigative journalism in the public interest. Click here to visit their excellent website.

Popularity: 5% [?]

BY MIKE LOEWE

The sun was out and the attitude was right. She needed the beach and Saturday was blue.

Grahamstown can be interminable on weekends. Dunno why because I love this place. It has a wonderful way of handling time – all those seasons and moods and switches. Just sometimes, you get to Sunday night and think: “Is that it?”

But this Saturday just said: “Beach!”

Simple sun worshipping. Unselfconscious. Real. Pic: Mike Loewe

You get people who are launching their rubber ducks into the dawn ready for a day of splendour. And you get those who launch their cars onto the freeway at noon, having visited the community market, dropped a child, spoken to moms, resolved little niggling, banal issues that just won’t let you go to the beach…

But the attitude was good, so armed with FooDude’s R20-a-slice baklava, plus shortbread and beetroot relish, and one teen, we happily puttered towards Kenton. I was resolved and at peace. No surfing today. Just swimming.

Tant Hettie’s farm stall on the vlakte above Salem is famous for two cyclists bonking (remember, it means getting tired, vulnerable and unable to continue) and only one of them calling home for a pick-up! (But they both took it, and we move on…)

Now it was my time to explore the store. Rushed into her darkened garage with its ancient shelves and single fridge. What would she look like? My late aunty Esme!

Her ginger beer is awesome, and with arms jammed with jars, we left this single-looking senior in her little house under giant gums and stopped only to look at rhinos a few kays outside Kenton.

A bit of faffing around (Mermaid beach is not the same as Aviator Girl’s cove) and we arrive.

The tide is in, such a wide shallow expanse of water. Easterly churn has turned it cold, but the sand is warm (not burny) and we make our way to the corner.

Daughter is delighted, but screeches as we wobble our way into the olive-coloured deep channel and we do that heart-pumping rush across (just in case a raggy decides to cruise the bay) and we are out in the ocean, on the flats. Exposed.

She goes in to the waist (familiar?) and stretches out on the sand, hat over head, in her styling, sporty black one-piece into that combo of intense light without the roasting.

Another family joins us. The beach is otherwise empty. And did I say vast?

We let the sun onto our pale skin. Not too long, because the next door Yorky runs up and snaffles into She’s hat-covered face!

Just an hour or so hanging out on this shoreline where earth and sea create endless energy and we’re peckish. (Later we’ll eat at Ocean Basket in Port Alfred on the banks of the Kowie. A treat.)

As we mosey along towards car, there is this remarkable sight.

A woman in full beachy outfit, slacks, blouse, hat, shoes. She should be upright, but has chosen to lie flat on the sand, stretched in full repose with that vista of hills and water in the background.

Simple sun worshipping. Unselfconscious. Real.

Great attitude.

* Mike Loewe is the editor of   Makana Moon, a quirky community paper in Grahamstown. Click here to check it out on the web.

Popularity: 13% [?]

by Dave Macgregor

The smoking life. This is not Dave Macgregor...he has a goat

I met god – with a little “g” – three months ago when I decided to finally kick a butt burning addiction that has cost me thousands of Rands over the past 25 years.
An average of 20 ciggies a day, 365 and a quarter days a year for 25 years, you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to realize how much I have wasted since I sucked my first “cancer stick” – long before I even started shaving.
What the hell…I would have could have should have been a tycoon if I did not spend hundreds of thousands of hard earned clams on puffing.

Nobody held a gun to my head and – yes – I did know every smoke was “another nail in your coffin.”

But still I puffed.

I convinced myself I was so hooked, I would literally walk miles to buy some twak – no matter how poor I was – always fearing that if I did not get my nicotine fix I would climb walls.

Or so I thought.

It was so bad, I would be reaching for my smokes and lighting up – even before I realized what I was doing.

Before going to bed every night, I would make sure I had at least two “skyfs” left for the morning, one with a cup of mocca java – cos everybody knows it “tastes better” like that.

What a joke.

I found that all out during a five hour quit smoking session with god with a little “g” – taking a puff break every 30 minutes, nogal.

If a friend of mine could kick her 80 a day habit with god with a little “g” I could nail down my much smaller addiction.

Five hours later I realized how much smoking really sucked and stopped.

After huffing and puffing my way through 25 years of my life, the past three months have been the best.

Hooked as a teenager, 90 days after I had my last smoke I am slowly starting to feel like a teenager again as my lungs get to grips with some fresh air for a change.

Pity about the prune faced wrinkles I got from sucking on a million smokes or more though…

The hacking morning cough has gone; the wheezing before falling asleep is not as audible as before and I can hike up hills without huffing and puffing.

The body is slowly adjusting to being given a second chance at life.

For years Malcolm Robinson was just another surfing buddy – who also smoked 30 plus a day.

Now he is “Little g”.

After several failed attempts to quit, Malcolm stumbled on Allen Carr’s Easyway to Stop smoking last year and is fast becoming a give-it-up guru.

Endorsed by major medical aid companies – with a money back guarantee if it does not work after three tries – I kicked it on the first attempt.

Not using any “nicotine substitutes” – like patches or sprays – or hypnotherapy, it is the sheer simplicity of the message that breaks down all the myths associated with smoking.

No shock tactics no horror pictures of tarred up lungs – just common sense.

I always thought I was hopelessly addicted until it was pointed out to me if it was so bad – how could I get eight solid hours of sleep a night?

Bingo.

A few more chirps like that and I did not want to smoke.

Eureka.

I now know coffee tastes much better without a smoke. A few puffs after a meal do not bring out the flavour.

“Little g” got hold of me and I really woke up and smelt the coffee…and really tasted my food

Forget the Iluminati and other conspiracy theories – the biggest hoax are the myths associated with smoking.

The joke is on us.

Sex may seem better after a smoke, but try kissing a mouth after 25 of those suckers and you will know what I mean.

I believed it all – until Malcom started his shpeel.

Every myth was met with a logical explanation and the smoke breaks started seeming a little pointless.

And, as promised I am not a miserable sod – even during the first week.

Nowdays my friends say that I am glowing. I can stand in a smoky room and not feel like a puff. I also do not feel like public enemy number 1.

Billed the “number one smoking cessation method in the world” – I have little reason to disagree.

When my son came home from school in tears after being shown the lungs of smokers – I knew I had to quit.

Thanks “Little g”

* Dave Macgregor is the wayward, surfing and butt-kicking correspondent for the Daily Dispatch in Port Alfred. He is also famous for adopting a goat while on a newspaper travel trip

Popularity: 13% [?]

By ANDREW TRENCH

This morning I was greeted with the sad news of the sudden death of our colleague, political reporter Msimelelo Njwabane. He collapsed last night and passed away. He was 28.

His death has left myself and his colleagues at the paper in deep shock. In the band of brothers and sisters that make up a newspaper’s team the sudden loss of a colleague hurts. When a colleague the calibre of Msimelelo falls it hurts even more.

Msimelelo was a young reporter but he made up for inexperience with his larger-than-life passion and commitment to his work. He worked hard to tell the complex story of politics in the Eastern Cape, a political viper’s nest where the reporters stand in the frontline.

Along with colleague Mayibongwe Maqhina, Msimelelo drove our coverage of the emergence of Cope nationally and in the Eastern Cape. Their coverage resulted in recent record sales for the newspaper.

Of course, such coverage opened the paper up to charges of bias. The ANC and its allies accused myself, our reporters and the paper of bias – sometimes with deeply personal attacks on us. Our explanation that we were simply doing our jobs fell on deaf ears.

But the story changed as every story does and recent months have seen us leading the way in reporting on the fractures in Cope itself and Msimelelo was there at the frontline again right until the end.  His earlier critics must be scratching their heads today seeing their comfortable assumptions about him dashed.

Msimelelo was a political reporter who got his hands dirty. He didn’t report off policy statements and press releases. He got right down into the heart of a story – often to the chagrin of his subjects.

Recently he reported on how Cope spokesman Phillip Dexter and other top brass had to flee a pub in East London in the face of a mob of party dissidents. When the party complained about his report and his sources, Msimelelo pointed out that he had no sources – he was there and witnessed the event first hand.

Cope accused him of being pro-ANC. The ANC accused him of being pro-Cope. In fact, every party thought he carried a brief for another. I leave it to you to decide what that said about him.

But those of us that knew him understood where his heart lay. The truth would surprise many of his critics. But that’s his secret which we will keep. His own convictions were known to us and never mattered because he was a journalist above all else.

Msimelelo joined the Dispatch in January 2009 from Beeld where he had been an investigative and political reporter since 2007 after a year spent at City Press also working the political beat. He was an Eastern Cape boy who grew up Stutterheim and matriculated at Stutterheim High School. It was unusual for someone of his background to work at an Afrikaaans paper  but Msimelelo was not a usual person  finding his way into mainstream reporting through work with the Environmental Justice Networking Forum and the NuFarmer and African Entrepeneur publication.

As every reporter does in their career, he made some mistakes.

He blundered in a major report on an Eastern Cape vehicle tender deal which led to a significant front page apology by the newspaper and he felt the pain of our internal disciplinary procedures because of it. But he did not make excuses for this mistake. He admitted his shortcomings, stood tall and took it on the chin, vowing to be a better reporter.  He earned my respect for that and the politicians he wrote about could have learned something from his integrity.

I write this knowing that his colleagues will never forget him and I hope that others will know of what he achieved and the impact he made in his short career. I offered for any of his colleagues to take the day off if they needed to. They have declined. We know why and we know what Msimelelo would think about that.

His colleagues have laid flowers on his keyboard and they continue to work through their tears.

* Andrew Trench is the editor of the Daily Dispatch in East London. Click here to go to his blog.

Popularity: 14% [?]

BY SHEETAL MAKHAN

My trek across the globe

Pic: Creative Commons, Flickr, Hyku

In August 2007, I packed up my life in South Africa and moved across the globe to a country I never visited before to call it home for a year. I had just graudated after four years at university and decided to move to South Korea to teach English at an elementary school.

Back then, young graduates going over to the east to become English teachers was only just becoming popular. People (even to this day) find it very interesting and unusual that I (an Indian girl) have left my parents home to set up shack in a country so different to anything I could imagine. After all, if I were to follow the stereotype, I’d have graduated with a notable degree and married a “nice Indian boy”. Of course, we’d have babies and I’d become a stay-at-home-mom or work in the family business (which has zero connection to my degree!)

Having attended an all-girls school and studying Journalism and Anthropology at university, I’ve prided myself on being open-minded about people and cultures. I’ve always been interested in people and knowing about social structures in society.

While racism is still a prevalent topic in South Africa, the social groups I have associated with over the years have always been diverse. Growing up, I never belonged to a clique. I had friends of different races, cultures and religions. Because of this, I’ve learnt to embrace people from all walks of life and have learned to empathize with friends and strangers alike.

Settling into my new ‘home’

When I arrived in Korea, I had to get used to many different things – food, language, respect for authority and general cultural aspects that is typical of Asian nations. Something else I had to get used to was being stared at, whether in and around my neighbourhood, on the bus or subway or when I was in a restaurant with my colleagues.

I live in a city an hour away from the heart of Seoul – Korea’s capital city. Foreigners in Seoul are definitely not uncommon to see, especially over the weekends. Many English teachers and American soldiers flock to an area called Itaewon, which caters mostly to the foreign population. It is located near the US Military Base and foreigners can enjoy typical Western food and have no problem with communication, as most of the Koreans working in Itaewon can speak English fairly well.

My city is very different and seeing foreigners around here even makes me “sit up and look”. In the area that I live in, I know that there are a few Bangladeshi’s and Sri Lankans who run Halaal shops. I don’t see them often and haven’t really communicated with them. I do, however, get the occasional stare and when I’m out in Seoul, I sometimes even get whistled at. I’m told that there are more Indian men here than there are women, so seeing an Indian woman like me is pretty rare.

I am the first and currently only foreign teacher at my school. For many of the staff and students, I am also the first foreigner they have ever had contact with and “seen” in real life. For some of the younger children who haven’t been exposed to foreign TV and movies, I was completely different to them. Some students would come up to me in pairs or groups, peer at me inquisitively and stroke my arm!

When I introduced myself to my classes, I showed them photographs of my family and friends in South Africa (including the various races that make up our “Rainbow Nation”) The general reaction from my students were “Oohs and Aahs”.

Something else I also had to get used to was being told by my colleagues that I’m beautiful. They often spoke about how big my eyes are and that I have a “high nose”. I certainly wasn’t used to this as I never got attention even close to this in South Africa. I guess I was just ‘ordinary’ back home, but now I’m living in a homogenous nation and to the locals here, I’m exotic!

Meeting other foreigners

During my first few weeks while settling in, I met a few other foreigners. They were mostly from America, Canada, England and New Zealand.

I hate to generalize, but in this case I will and readers should keep in mind that it is just that. Before coming to Korea, I never really had a solid opinion of Americans. I had a few American friends and I thought they were wonderful. But some of the Americans I met (especially military folk) in Korea changed my mind completely.

I’ll never forget an incident where I was in a McDonalds at a subway station with my friend. There were two American soldiers at the table next to us. One asked me where I was from. When I replied, “South Africa” he went on to ask, “Yeah, but where?” I couldn’t for the life of me understand that this man didn’t know that South Africa was actually a country.

Another favourite of mine after hearing that I’m South African has been, “But you’re not black!”

As I settled into my new life, my circle of friends were more defined. I found myself more attracted to Koreans than to foreigners. I became attached to my colleagues who seemed to have taken to me as well. I was invited home for dinners and was introduced to extended families, including grandparents. When I related all this to one of my South African friends (also a teacher here) she told me that she’d never heard of Koreans opening their homes so freely to foreigners. She suggested that it was because I was of Asian descent and that they probably felt comfortable with me as we shared cultural similarities. To a certain extent, this was true and many times my Korean colleagues have told me that they feel like I’m “just like a Korean”.

My friend, on the other hand, had to constantly defend her nationality as she was often mistaken for a Russian. She was tall with pale skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Russian girls are also known as “Coffee Girls” here in Korea. These are girls who work in coffee shops where men would go to drink, sing and be ‘entertained’ by these foreign beauties.

As I grew closer to my new Korean friends, some of the younger unmarried ladies confessed to me that they wished to have a foreign boyfriend. Note that when I say foreign, I mean white American. At first this took me by surprise, because even though Korea may be advanced in technology and so on, it is still a nation deeply-rooted in culture and ancient traditions. Respect for elders, parents and ancestors transcend the modern way of today’s lifestyle.

Korean women’s fascination with Western men

“They always tell their wives they love them,” is one of the most common things I’ve heard from my Korean friends. One of the most popular shows on TV here is re-runs of Sex & the City. Korean women long for the glitz, glamour and lifestyle of Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. They fantasize about meeting men who will romance them in fancy restaurants and fulfill all their fantasies. Of course, shows like this glamourize sex and alcohol. American sitcoms like Friends (another favourite on Korean TV) emits lifestyles of casual sex, fun, friends, coffee shops, bars, and surprisingly, very little work done in the office!

Like other Asian nations, Koreans have a fierce working ethic. What we typically know as a “9 to 5 job” is almost non-existent in this country. You go home when the work is done. And even if your work isn’t complete, you can’t leave unless your boss has left first. Work extends beyond the office. Sometimes, business deals with new clients are sealed in bars, leaving businessmen trekking back home as late as 4am. The result of this is that married Korean women are left at home – lonely, unless they have children to take care of.

Korea is one of the most patriarchal societies I have ever come to learn about, and it is for this reason that so many young Korean girls opt for having foreign boyfriends.

It is becoming increasingly common to see Korean girls dating Americans (teachers or US soldiers). Korean girls regard them as their green card, and put bluntly, the American guy is having his fantasy fulfilled by dating an Asian beauty. However, it is interesting to note that there are far less foreign women dating Korean men. I have leant that this is because there is a lot more pressure placed on Korean men, especially when being ranked in their family. Family name and status is very important in this country and Korean men carry a lot of responsibility in this regard. Therefore, if a Korean man were to have a foreign girlfriend, he’s most likely to be ostracized by his family.

Introducing South Africa to Koreans

When I ride cabs alone, I notice the driver sneaking looks at me from his rearview mirror. Sometimes I’ll get, “Indo?” (India?) or “Bangladeshi?” or “Sri Lanka?” My friends have told me that they probably assume this because of my bindi (a small, fancy sticker I wear between my eyebrows) which I wear as a fashion statement.

Some drivers, after learning that I’m from South Africa have responded with, “Oh! Nelson Mandela!” or “Cape Town!” and more recently, “World Cup!” Some Koreans, when asking me to tell them more about South Africa, often ask me about racism. When I tell them about apartheid and general stories about beaches, benches and areas assigned to specific race groups, they look at me in complete disbelief. I’m always curious why racism seems to be the topic I get asked about most. Do they know that South Africa is widely known for its natural beauty and landscapes? No. Do they know that we actually have concrete buildings and – wait for it – highways?! No! Some of them still believe that we live a primitive lifestyle in mud huts. I’ve taken this a step further and have even fooled some people into believing that I have a pet giraffe back home!

For me, it’s amusing to note my Korean colleagues and friends reactions when I talk about racism in South Africa. Because even if they don’t place signs for specific groups (except for the signs outside various dance clubs saying, “No GI’s” – not permitting US military inside – but that’s another story altogether), I have learned that Koreans can be pretty racist in their thoughts and some even by actions.

Koreans and Africans

I have a new co-worker, a Korean woman, Alice, who has been married to a Pakistani for the past 6 years. Alice has worked with foreign teachers before and has shared stories with me about them as well as her own personal story of being married to a foreigner.

Alice told me about her Canadian African co-teacher (who hated being called “black”). He lived in an apartment building where he was probably the only foreigner. Apparently, whenever he rode the elevator, Korean tenants in the building would get off if he was inside.

When I asked Alice why Koreans have this attitude towards African people, her answer blew me away. (Please note that this is not a reflection of her opinion, but that of Korean people in general).

I was told that Koreans fear African people because “they may be criminals” or “they may hurt you.”

WHAT?! I gasped.

“Koreans think they are like the mafia.” When I questioned Alice where all this stems from, she replied, “From TV and movies.”

On this point, I should tell you that there are a number of Nigerians in Korea. It is said that some are here as English teachers (illegally, as Nigerian passport holders are currently not allowed to become English instructors). Some Nigerians own nightclubs in Itaewon, while others do menial work for Koreans.

So, basically I was told that compared to white westerners, Koreans regard Africans as having a ‘low status’. If a Korean girl were to date a foreigner, it would be more acceptable if she was with a white man.

My mind raced and I questioned further, “Why is Oprah and Tyra Banks so popular on Korean TV if Koreans don’t favour black people?” Well the answer is quite simple. The likes of Oprah Winfrey, Tyra Banks, Beyonce, Barack Obama and even our own Nelson Mandela hold a certain kind of status and power in the world. What they say is gospel…and, “Oh! They are rich!” I was told.

Alice confessed to being ostracized from her family and friends after she married her husband – a Pakistani man who has been working in Korea for nearly a decade. She tells me sadly, “It’s for two reasons. He’s not Korean. And he’s a Muslim.”

Koreans and Muslims

Amir is Alice’s husband. As a businessman in Korea for a good number of years, he speaks Korean almost fluently. He’s experienced his own share of racism amongst the Korean community. Alice related a story to me whereby Amir was cutting a business deal with a Korean man. In Korean, the man rudely said to Amir, “Hey you! Come here!” – the same tone one would take when talking to a child. Of course, Amir could understand this and asked questioned the man. Usually, when Koreans realize that foreigners can understand even a bit of their language, their attitude will change almost instantly. I’ve experience this first hand – especially if cab drivers are trying to cheat me or rig the meter!

When driving to work in the morning, both Amir and Alice are met with intense glares from tollgate workers. Alice tells me that people question her without beating about the bush, “Why did you marry him?” And then there’s a few who stare at him, but in fact are admiring his ‘exotic’ features.

So now that I knew where the racism towards black people originated from, I was curious to know where the underlying hatred towards Muslim people came from. Alice put it simply in one word, “Terrorist”

Generally speaking, Koreans liken Muslims to terrorists. And where does “this” come from? Of course – TV and movies.

This reminds me of a lesson I recently taught. I explained to a class of Grade 5s that I was South African. I went on to say that I was Indian. Some of them mistook it for a Native American. When I explained that I meant Indian from India, the first reaction from them was, “Curry!” So as young as they are, my students are already able to link racial and cultural groups to something that they can be associated to, or rather what we know as ‘stereotypes’.

Hip hop culture sweeps over Korea

There has recently been a wave of hip hop culture that’s taken over Korean youth. This has influenced Korean music, music videos and even fashion. I’ve always told my friends that being in a Korean club makes me feel like I’m on the set of a hip hop music video. Hip hop and rap artists (some of African descent) are very popular in Korea at the moment, which leads me to believe that this whole racism hoo-hah is based on the mindset of older Koreans. Right? Wrong!

When I asked Alice to confirm this for me, she disagreed saying that younger generations are also racist towards other races. So even though they mimic Beyonce’s Single Ladies or try to dress like P Diddy, it remains just that – music and fashion, and has nothing to do with the artists race.

Well, I’ve said a whole lot more than I initially intended to, but the topic is very interesting to me and is definitely one that is evolving on a daily basis. Living in Korea for over two years, my mind has been broadened so much and I’ve learned to see the world through many different pairs of eyes – regardless of the race they belong to!

I’d love to know your thoughts and opinions on it!

* Sheetal Makhan is a South African columnist and blogger, who has been living and working in South Korea for the past two years. She wrote this piece for Grubstreet in response to this previous post. Click here to go to Sheetal’s blog or you can reach her at sheetalmakhan@gmail.com

Popularity: 98% [?]

By DAVID MACGREGOR

Last year I fell in love with a goat. Now I am not so sure.

It’s goat’s life…TK the confused Transkei goat chills with the hounds. Pic: David Macgregor

Standing in my once beautiful garden – staring at foliage stripped barer than the aftermath of the Hiroshima “A bomb” – I am in two minds whether to keep the beast, or slap it on the next barbie. Problem is TK has become more than just a set of chops or a rack of ribs – he is now part of the family.

Riding back to Port Alfred from the Dispatch @Venture roadtrip in the Transkei last year with my son and the furry ball of fluff on a motorbike seemed like fun at the time – and then he grew up and became bigger and badder than my dogs. Always eating and pooping bullets all over the place, sometimes I think I would better off if I had not contracted Pondo Fever and fallen in love with a goat.

Newspapers, washing, car seats – you name it – nothing is safe when TK gets the munchies. He is like a goat tsunami. That is when I think about taking him off behind the packshed and sending him to goat chop lalaland.

Sharpening the knives in my mind, licking my chops and thinking about the amount of nyama on the beefy yellow-eyed beast’s body, it usually takes a glance from the other two, two legged kids I have to convince me otherwise. Problem is my offspring have given him a name and it would be like killing their brother.

A confused critter, I am still trying to work out whether the goat realizes he is in fact a goat. After months of running with the hounds, he has developed a tendency to make his back hair stand up when he is angry – just like his pooch pals.

He is no longer a goat and is certainly not a dog either – friends explain his personality as that of a doat. He loves cruising around in the car and walking on the beach on a lead with the dogs. But, taking him for a splash is hard work. Trying to dodge inquisitive dogs and trigger happy people asking to pose for pictures with TK is a nightmare.

My kids have now twigged on the idea of using their furry friend to generate some pocket money. Tired of the endless photocalls, five year-old Kye thinks he can charge people R5 a time.

Goat tsunami…TK chomps up a storm. Pic: David Macgregor

One trip to East Beach with the missus – dressed in black – drew screams from across the Kowie River as she walked down the pier with TK. “Look a goat,” some drunkard shouted. “I think she is going to sacrifice it on the pier,” the madman continued.

Sheepishly she bundled him into the car and went walkies at a quieter spot.

I don’t know how long goats normally live for, but I think I am stuck with the beast – at least until the kids leave home. By that time I should be grey and living in the “Goatbi” desert and TK will probably be too tough to slap on the barbie. Maybe a Christmas braai and a white lie to the kids about how he ran off to join the circus is a better idea?

* David Macgregor a.k.a. Gwava is the wayward, surf-loving Port Alfred correspondent for the Daily Dispatch newspaper. Look out for his blog, Davey Jones, on the Dispatch’s website soon. Click here to read about the start of the stormy relationship with TK, the goat.

Popularity: 16% [?]

By FRED HATMAN

Shell collecting. The most innocent and becalming of pastimes. Fresh sea air. Crashing waves caressing one’s ears. Kids building sandcastles. Seagulls wheeling and whingeing. Dogs with sticks in their mouths shaking saltwater over bodies browning under sun’s grill.

Time was when Mom and Dad would take us down the South Coast for a Sunday of bodysurfing, Coke floats and burgers and Swingball on the beach. We would wade in the rockpools, wonder at crabs and gigglingly stick our stubby little fingers into ever-alert anemone. And pick up, seemingly, huge cowrie shells almost at will.

Many years later, now that I enjoy the “live-the-holiday” luxury of blogging on my Umdloti verandah instead of enduring endless newspaper strategy meetings in drab offices, I have begun to take walks on the beach – just 40 metres away from my front door.

Bliss. It is during my seaside solo sojourns that I feel the eye-crustiness of hours spent hovering over my laptop wash away, cleansed by breezes surfing off the Indian Ocean, my feet cooled by flirtatious tides, the scrunching sand exfoliating my toes.

Umdloti Beach in more chilled times. Pic: Hatman

That was until I rediscovered what I remembered to be the joys of finding the enticingly elusive cowrie shells. Those subtly coloured beetle-body shells of porcelain sheen, with the tiny teeth that once protected the gogga which lived inside. The shells that, centuries ago, were used as currency in much of the world. Eulogised in myth to boost fertility in women whose bodies are adorned with them. Oh, what elation to be had when, among myriad fragments of oystershells, mussels and limpids, I spot a cowrie furtively shooting off a watery wink at the wintery sun.

Shells on the seashore: spot the cowrie. Pic: Hatman

Aaah, got it... did you get it?" Pic: Hatman

But no more. I have stumbled upon a secretive, sophisticated network of local cowrie collectors. And they’re scary. They emerge silently and menacingly at the crack of dawn from their hi-des double-storey homes lining Umdloti South Beach Road, clutching roneo’d copies of tide-tables in one hand and Friendly Store plastic bags in the other.

Wearing crazy-paved, granny-knitted and grotesque jerseys to defeat the early-morning chill, they fan out on the sands with nary a glance at sky or surf. Heads down they plod away, scouring around every granule of sand for any cowrie which may be trying to hide behind a piece of seaweed or Coke bottle-top. Raised glances are reserved for me, an Umdloti newbie, and they wordlessly say: “Hey, out-of-towner, don’t tread on our turf. You’re welcome to surf or build sandcastles but we have sole mining rights for cowries on this beach so naff off.”

I pretend to stare out to sea, waving occasionally at a bloke in a microlight or at a container ship headed for the Far East, all the while poking a toe around in the sand for a shape resembling that of a cowrie shell. It’s not nice.

Then it got worse. I had juggled my blogging hours to avoid any clashes with the Umdloti Underground Cowrie Collectors Club (UUCCC) when the unexpected dangers of cowrie collecting were raised to a new level altogether by the arrival of the Vixen of Vienna.

I had pocketed two beauties one day when I heard a low growl. It seemed to come from a short, copper-haired woman with translucent skin and fierce eyes. I could tell that her eyes were fierce because they were locked on me. “For vot are you looking?” came the repeated growl. “Oh, just shells,” I chortled cheerily. “Vell,” she spat, while clearly trying to hypnotise me, “has you found any kowies?”

“Nah,” I said, wearing my most disappointed face in deepest etch, “it’s a quiet day on the cowrie front.” “Is dat right?” rasped Frau Vixen, spinning on her sandalled heel to inspect a crustaceous form that had caught her eye.

The Viennese Vixen closes in on my shadow: so scary I had to shoot this from the hip. Pic: Hatman

I decided to put distance between me and the malevolent madchen. When the tide, now resurgent, washed up a shape answering to that of a cowrie, I strode forward, hand extended… only to find my progress blocked by the Austrian antagonist. “Mine!” she screamed, sounding like Bakkies Botha diving into a loose maul.

I retreated to the safety of my verandah, relieved not to have been mugged for the two cowries which now resided in my underwear. That night, I dreamt of a fearsome female alien riding atop a gargantuan tank-like beast which scooped huge lumps of Umdloti beach into giant retractable arms and rifled through its haul for cowries before clunking them into its rumbling belly.

I think I shall take up scrapbooking.

* Fred Hatman is a veteran South African hack, who has plied his trade both in SA and the UK, now living in Umdloti in KZN. He also runs a cool blog, which is well worth a visit… or two… or three… Click here to go there.

Popularity: 22% [?]

Hello all,

Herewith the latest from my ex-pat South African friend in South Korea with her perspective on a different aspect of life over there.

Regards
Jock McConnachie

There’s this weird dynamic going on here… in addition to being an extremely racist place, korea has traditionally also been totally, as in supremely, chauvinistic (goes back to all the Confucian stuff which is so rigidly adhered to here… )

BUT……. The Backlash>>>>>

“these days” young girls are, for the most part refusing to get married. (!!!!! – You have to understand how traditional this society is to understand the implications of this move)

korean men, especially in the countryside have had to import brides from other countries…
foreigners!!!!!!! arghhh!!!! a total horror in korean society. and being brought about by young korean women themselves…..
another social issue altogether = 25% of babies being born in this “homogenous country” are now of mixed blood (the horror, the horror!!!!)

I have quite a few ambitious, intelligent young women and men – university students – in my conversation classes.
the young men, in a strange, roundabout way, collude with the girls… too complicated to try to explain.

and I say: You Go Girls (and Boys)!!!

CHECK OUT THIS VIDEO – these girls are deserving of worldwide support.
you will not BELIEVE what utter fucking collective, traditional shit korean women have had to wade through to get to this.
on the face of it: sexy pop. underneath it: so much more.

Popularity: 16% [?]