Politics has always had its rituals, formalities, and its theatre. In recent times, we’ve seen a resurgence of political conversation, not just in South Africa, but across the globe.
There were fraught negotiations along the Ukrainian border and deepening partisan tensions in the United States, and now in Germany, where previously opposed parties have found themselves seated at the same table. South Africa’s own Government of National Unity (GNU) is just another reflection of this broader international moment: conversations are being had, agreements are being shaped, and all the while, cameras are rolling.
But I can’t help returning almost instinctively to a different context every time I watch these developments. I think back to my days as a student leader. It was there that I began to learn not just about political language, but about political work, and about the profound difference between the two.
Elected for Action, Not Affiliation
At the time, I represented one of the few university campuses where student leaders were elected independently, without the backing of political parties, which were prohibited. It wasn’t about which national student body you belonged to, but about what you had actually done on campus: whether you had led a residence, served on an academic or cultural committee, or helped build something of value in one of the many student structures.
These were executive committees, sport, culture, academics, or the arts, and they worked best when they were led by people willing to do the work, not just talk about it. Those who are doers of deeds, to paraphrase the famous Man in the Arena poem by Theodore Roosevelt.
Then came the 2015–16 #FeesMustFall protests. Universities across the country were thrown into turmoil. As part of the national student leadership, I was often summoned to Johannesburg for long, high-stakes meetings with government officials. I remember driving out early on the N12, bleary-eyed and hopeful, arriving in one plush hotel or another, ready to talk through the issues.
More than once, I was politically orphaned in those rooms. When Minister Blade Nzimande would call for a caucus break, ANC-aligned leaders stayed put, the DA and EFF would retreat to their own corners, and I’d be left wandering the halls. It happened so often that I occasionally ended up sharing a quiet beer with the minister while the others plotted in private.
But here’s the thing: for many of them, the caucus was the climax. Once the meeting ended, they considered their political work complete. Representation, for them, meant being seen and being heard, not necessarily getting things done afterwards.
The Politics of Participation
I recall one interaction that left a lasting impression. A group of student leaders from other campuses came to visit ours, and we spoke about our university’s Open Day, an event where we cleaned the campus, built up our residences, and welcomed thousands of high school learners. We’d work late on Friday night, host with joy on Saturday, and end the day with a communal braai. It was both exhausting and exhilarating.
But our visitors looked confused. “That’s not our job,” one said. “We’re not functionaries of the university. We’re student leaders. We push policy.”
That moment has stayed with me for years. It crystallised a distinction that I’ve never been able to shake: the difference between performative politics and practical servant leadership. One demands visibility. The other demands sweat.
Today, I see that same tension playing out in the broader political arena. We have endless forums, summits, and panels, each one a theatre of political representation. But once the mics are turned off and the cameras packed away, what happens? Too often, the answer is nothing.
Belling the Cat
I am typically reminded of one of Aesop’s fables that my father used to read to me before bedtime when I was little, called Belling the Cat. In this tale, the mice gather in their own little version of a parliament. They acknowledge that the cat poses a grave and continuous danger due to its annoying habit of eating their comrades and terrorising their community every mealtime. A young mouse bravely steps forward with a solution: “How about we just hang a bell around the cat’s neck? That way, they’ll always hear it coming.”
It’s a brilliant idea, the crowd of mice say. Applause breaks out. Problem solved, they think.
And this is where I see South Africa’s politics most clearly reflected. We are masters of identifying problems and celebrating plans. Once we’ve named the issue and proposed a solution, we act as though the work is done.
But then comes the punchline of the fable that every child who has read it will remember. Someone eventually asks: “Who will put the bell around the cat’s neck?”
In South African politics, we too often leave that question unanswered. We stop at the brilliance of the plan. We rarely take the next step: implementation, sacrifice, execution. It’s one thing to have the meeting. It’s another thing to do the work that follows.
From Talk to Transformation
What I learned as a student leader and what I still believe today is that leadership begins when the meeting ends. Yes, representation matters. Yes, policy debates are important. But they are not sufficient, and they do not improve any lives.
The true work of politics begins when you return home and sit down to draft the policy that was agreed in principle. Then comes the process of lobbying for it, refining it, and explaining it to the public. It involves slow work, frustrating work, meeting after meeting, compromise after compromise.
And finally, you must make the new law or policy real. That means writing the memos, consulting the academics, and crafting the media messaging. It means explaining to citizens what’s changing and why it matters. This is what separates good politicians from consequential politicians.
If you’re not doing this, then you’re not a political leader. You’re a political accessory, an expensive microphone, or at best, a polished speaker. But you don’t change anything. You don’t make anyone’s life better.
Rolling Up Our Sleeves
It could be that I’m still too idealistic. But to me, politics should be about improving the human condition. About making the system work better for more people. And for that, you need more than ideas. You need hands.
South Africa is full of talk shops. Perhaps that’s inevitable. From the Roman Senate to the Greek Agora, from Germany’s Bundestag to our own lekgotlas, conversation is baked into democracy. But the question remains: what happens after the talking?
Do we roll up our sleeves, bend our backs, and get to work? Or do we stop at the applause line, satisfied that we’ve said the right thing?
I believe South Africa will only be well served by leaders who understand that their job is not just to speak, but also to act. Leaders who know that political change is not made with a tongue alone, but also with wrists, elbows, knees, and the occasional scraped knuckle.
Because until someone puts the bell around the cat’s neck, nothing will ever really change, will it?
The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR.
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Image by kp yamu Jayanath from Pixabay