A crack band of Kiwi mercenaries emerges from the presidential palace with Robert Mugabe’s head on a pike. The world roars its approval. We bring them home in tickertape of a volume not seen since the Americas Cup.
Too extreme? How about if they drag him out still alive, but hogtied and wriggling?
One must consider such nice questions when one is fine-tuning an audacious plan to remedy two pressing problems.
Problem One: there is a monster in Harare.
Problem Two. We are, according to the Mayor of Wanganui, being tyrannised by petty terrorists, namely: gangs.
I cannot settle for handwringing. I am a practical man. The farm where I grew up was held together by number eight wire. I have a solution.
You may not have realised it, but as you were emptying your popcorn bucket and watching the Dirty Dozen getting shot, stabbed, and blown up by Germans, you were contemplating the meaning of individualism, collectivism, cultural relativism, racism, patriotism and duty. I am obliged to Wikipedia for enlightening me.
More crucially, however, you were witnessing an ingenious solution.
For those who have not had the benefit, the Dirty Dozen proceeds on the following basis: With the D-Day landings looming, the US army needs a diversion; a suicide mission. Regular soldiers can’t be risked, so instead they turn to twelve hard-core American prisoners doing life or facing execution. These lost causes are whipped into shape and sent in to wipe out a chateau full of Wehrmacht officers.
You can no doubt see where I’m going with this.
You take a dozen of the Mongrel Mob’s staunchest guys from Parry. Maybe a dozen Black Power as well, just to make it really interesting. A few Killer Beez for comic value.
You whip them into a crack unit, you give them all the equipment and supplies they require, legal and otherwise, and you put them on a plane to Zimbabwe. Their mission: Get Mugabe.
The training would be crucial. I nominate Ron Mark and Willie Apiata, because they are top blokes who know their stuff. We couldn’t risk them in the actual battle zone, though. Perhaps Archbishop Tamaki might volunteer. Or Chris Harder, if the Law Society should thwart him once more. Maybe a hardened coach like Grizz Wyllie or Frank Oliver. Maybe someone who’s both tough and smart enough to come back alive, like Anton.
This is just win/win all the way as far as I can see. If the first lot don’t come up trumps, you just send off another dozen. Rinse, repeat.The lowlife punks who shot Najtev Singh come to mind.
Some may quibble at the shaky legal basis. Alright, then, make it purely volunteer. How staunch are ya? you ask them. Wipe out Mugabe and his henchmen and we’ll wipe your slate clean.
Redemption is a powerful tool for rehabilitation.
More crucially, no other bastard is doing anything. Mr Unilateral Invasion seems to have stopped reading the international section of his Washington Post, if he ever was.
Afterwards, you could make a movie of it. Temuera Morrison wouldn't even have to get a new wardrobe. Cook me some fuckin’ eggs President. Antony Starr could easily play three, four, or half a dozen of the characters, and who wouldn't want to see Van and Munter on tour in Africa?
Would you include the blood and gore? It was a big step forward in 1967. Roger Ebert wrote:
I'm glad the Chicago Police Censor Board forgot about that part of the local censorship law where it says films shall not depict the burning of the human body. If you have to censor, stick to censoring sex, I say...but leave in the mutilation, leave in the sadism and by all means leave in the human beings burning to death. It's not obscene as long as they burn to death with their clothes on.
Simpler, more innocent times. These days we get to see it every night on the news.