THE future of our film industry is so bright, it will become a source of renewable energy as potent as solar energy. I can just imagine the story lines of conspiracy theories that have been spawned by arms and nuclear deals.

Enter the dragon, from Russia with love through the French connection. In case you have forgotten, someone was convicted by our courts for quaffing green tea with a Godfather, finish and klaar. Another benefited from the therapeutic effects of playing golf after being released on medical parole for being terminally ill.

And now, according to the screenplay, there will be some French kissing with the Karamazov brothers during a game of Chinese checkers. Did I mention that there is a Zulu on my stoep?

According to scriptwriters, integrity is not only overrated but provides very little material for gripping plots that centre on things venal and nefarious. This rush of creative energy fell upon me as I was watching the news.

To be exact, I was watching snippets from a show that is regarded as a farce by those who are suffering from low levels of respect for politicians, a show that has been parading as an arms deal commission for some time now.

One of the witnesses, a man who shall remain nameless in the true tradition of conspiracy theories, is a person who should be old enough to know the difference between what one knows or believes to know, on the one hand, and what one can prove, on the other.

But, the poor man does not seem to know the difference. What his friends should have told him is that both lies and the truth, to corrupt the words of a well-known (former) philosopher-king, can, under certain circumstances, have very short lower limbs.

Apparently, Jacobs told Terry Crawford-Browne that Modise was behind the conspiracy to kill Hani because Hani was about to expose his involvement in arms deal corruption.

I am, of course, referring to this man telling the arms deal commission that our former minister of defence and former commander of the former military wing of the African National Congress, Umkhonto we Sizwe, was behind the heinous murder of Chris Hani.

The problem with invoking the name of Joe Modise in this way is that, as they say, dead men tell no tales. They leave that to the living, who will go to the arms deal commission to put tales in their mouths. The bigger problem for the commission, however, is that dead men tell no lies either. The living are much better at that sort of thing. The problem is that the lies of the dead may become your lies if you cannot tell the difference between what you know and what you can prove.

This is why it was put to the man in question that one of his sources, Bheki Jacobs, a former intelligence operative, was nothing more than a confidence trickster, that is; a conman when you are tweeting.

Apparently, Jacobs told Terry Crawford-Browne that Modise was behind the conspiracy to kill Hani because Hani was about to expose his involvement in arms deal corruption.

For this, according to the extended version of the allegation, Modise was himself poisoned to death as a reward.

I suspect, very strongly, that Crawford-Browne has tested the patience of the commission to the limit. I don’t think he will get an opportunity to present a mega-mix of his conspiracy theory.

Were he to be granted such an opportunity, he would have the opportunity to share with the nation the identity of the Martians who gave a silencer to Clive Derby-Lewis and Janusz Walus.

As you know, I have no time for conspiracy theories. This is why I have, over the years, been dabbling in matters that are related to the "deep state", something that is born out of the confluence of political, economic, criminal and intelligence interests.

If I were Crawford-Browne, I would have come to me for coaching. I would have sensitised him to the fact that conspiracies, by their nature, don’t exist. More important, I would have told him that the commission exists to prove the existence of hearsay and conspiracy theories.

On the nuclear deal, things corrupt and venal are still work in progress.

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