I suppose the answer lies in the Holy Scriptures that say something about the sins of the fathers being visited on their children.
If it makes Mr Malema feel any better, I fared very badly in religious instruction back then, getting single digit percentages - so I can't be expected to remember much more than the "Our father" prayer.
The point of this is that I can't give you line and verse but I remember a vague reference to children eating sour grapes because of the sins of their parents.
Words to that effect.
So it is with our white folk. Affirmative action and BEE aside, the poor poor fellas have to contend with hordes of blacks asking them for "Krismas box" at this time of the year.
The routine is generally standardised. You (the black) shoot out your open hand and look him or her straight in the eye - and if they need more prodding you demand: "My Krismas box."
My experience has been that most times this works like magic. Notably, it never works the other way round. I do not see ordinary white folks approaching ordinary black folks to demand their Krismas box.
Thinkers let us know that this is the one malady of this country. Some 40 million blacks, in general, expect work and providence from five million whites. That mind-set is a sequel of decades of apartheid.
I am not about to get into a political discourse - definitely not at this time of the year. I was not too sure what subject would be appropriate when voila, a fellow braaier at my chisanyama got me thinking about this phenomenon called Krismas box.
I do not know the bugger.
He was relating to his mate how all "his" whites love him at work, except this one dude whose name I gathered was Johan.
All "his" whites had given him a Krismas box - but not Johan.
"He pretends to love blacks, but he is a racist!" my mate charged as he turned his boerewors on the fire.
So, I gathered, the thinking is that if a white person does not give you what you ask for or think you deserve, they are racist.
Some time ago I wrote about a veteran journalist who has now passed on, who had the hots for a white lady. He pursued her relentlessly, especially when he was drunk. One day, when he was sozzled motherless she rejected him once more.
Then he played his last, best ace: "Is it because I am black?"
She could not believe he "saw" it that way. She was overwhelmed with shame and so hurt she broke down and wept.
My fellow braaier should have known the magic line that makes white folks blush: "Is it because I'm black?"
That could have earned him his Krismas box.