Playing the blame game cuts out the inconvenient truth

One of the strangest habits we have is to blame others.
A schoolboy is tragically kidnapped by an adult male and a few days later his small, naked body is found dumped in the veld.
But, no, the blame is put on those institutions that collect cardboard to recycle for money as the suspect tricked the boy into accompanying him on the pretext of helping the boy to pick up discarded papers. A call is made to close down all those places that collect waste paper as they ‘kill children’.
Not a mention of the guardians of that child who allowed him to roam off to collect old papers in the first place.
A school child is run over on McKenzie Street. The motorist is automatically blamed. Not a word about the school children who walk six abreast in the middle of the road – all wearing earphones so their hearing is dulled to the frantic hooting of vehicles. A young woman lies in the gutter – writhing with glue-induced convulsions. It is her own fault, say indignant passers-by, and you see, you sniff glue and that’s what happens.
Probably true but what about just a little sympathy and instead of stepping over her, call an ambulance.
This town is so dirty, cry residents, who quite happily toss sweet papers out of moving cars – and then justify it by saying they are creating jobs for street cleaners.
Your child is dropped from the local hockey/rugby team and it is the coach’s fault. Not a word that just maybe another child is better than your superstar. Angry letters are immediately written.
You are tired of pathetic municipal services and potholed roads but say that there is no way you are going to queue up to vote in the local government elections to change things. You would rather stay at home and watch TV.
It is like the old story – a true one too, sadly, – of the young journalist who said he cannot go out and do stories as his camera bag is dirty and he would feel to embarrassed to be seen in public with it.
Asked why he does not simply get some Handy Andy and clean said bag, the youngster puts his hand to his mouth and exclaims ‘but ammonia is terrible for my skin’.
You blame the system because you cannot get a job – life serves you up one and a few weeks later, the grumbling starts about long hours, poor pay, unfair boss.
You complain you never receive a birthday present and blame your terrible friends never stopping to think that you do not bother to buy them presents.
It is always someone else’s fault in the blame game, which you can never win.