South Africans today celebrate the first post-apartheid election on 27 April 1994 – a moment of great change, and of hope. But when it comes to assessing how the government has honoured the constitutional promises it made to the people who put it in power, the intervening years reveal a long record of citizen abuse arising from corruption and theft, poor and ineffective governance, policy choices that undermine the choices and wellbeing of citizens, and disregard of the problems people face. A telling measure of the government’s indifference is the reaction of the Presidency to an Institute of Race Relations (IRR) memorandum on all these pressing issues, delivered nearly two months ago, on 3 March. Despite the promise of a reply within 14 days, the Presidency remains silent.
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My mother was a month pregnant with me in April 1994, when she and my father helped to set up voting stations at a local school in Johannesburg, along with people they knew from church and the neighbourhood.
Churches were getting together and praying that there wouldn’t be violence between the IFP and the ANC during our first democratic election – a menacing prospect which loomed on the horizon of South Africa’s new dawn.
Seemingly miraculously, the transition to democracy – with most South Africans voting for the first time – was not marred by such violence, or the bloodshed suffered in other countries emerging from colonial rule to take their first steps as independent states.
South Africa exceeded expectations, and many saw the absence of bloodshed as confirmation that we were ‘different’, ‘special’, superstars on the international stage. And, my word, was that drilled into me at primary school – ‘Design a proudly South African brand identity’ (Grade 4); ‘We are the rainbow nation’; ‘You kids born after 1994 are special, you are born-frees’.
We were taught to believe our country was a utopia – all people were becoming equal, everything would be fair because we had democracy, and we had passed ‘the test’ in that, post-apartheid, there was racial harmony.
Of course, there were great disparities between rich and poor, black and white: attending public schools allowed me to get to know kids from many different backgrounds, some with less material security than others. But I always believed that we were moving towards a better future, that we were a ‘special people’.
Now, 27 years later, a different sentiment emerges. It was captured for me in a recently radio engagement I participated in, which a caller named Patrick observed: ‘What we hoped for was a better society…what we were hoping for, with our leadership, Nelson Mandela, Oliver Tambo, and all the other chaps, we were hoping for a better society but unfortunately, what we have seems not to be what we ordered – imagine you’re sitting in a restaurant or hotel and you order good food, but now, you are given something that you don’t know what it is. What we are now having, this corruption, I experience it every day and I feel abused. I am now rendered voiceless. Remember, in apartheid, when we were voiceless? And our only voice was Archbishop Desmond Tutu who was dubbed the voice of the voiceless by New York Times magazine. Now I am voiceless. Even now as I speak to you – if it was not for the kindness of the lady on the radio who put me through, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you about my abuse. So, this is a serious matter, don’t take it lightly.’
Other callers expressed similar sentiments. One man started crying, saying: ‘Seven year, I am suffering… I regret the day I put a cross on the ANC membership.’
The high hopes of many South Africans in 1994 have slowly been squashed, reducing many to be mere ‘collateral damage’ in a sweeping tide of Marxist ideology and incomprehensible governmental corruption.
Commonplace
Corruption is so commonplace to us, it’s almost a cliché – consider our former president Jacob Zuma who, continuing to enjoy the benefits afforded by taxpayers’ money, such as his pension, refuses to be accountable to those very taxpayers. Zuma’s refusal to appear before the Zondo Commission has seen him defy the very Constitution he was entrusted with upholding as president. Meanwhile, he has actively sought to project his own corruption on to the commission, undermining and casting doubt upon it. While South Africans now await a ruling of the Constitutional Court, Zuma’s family continues to insist he will not face jail time. Given his history of consequence-free corruption, many South Africans will doubtless have reached the same conclusion.
Then there are the destructive consequences of ideologically driven policies, such as BEE, criticised on many fronts. Perhaps one of the most biting of its consequences is its implications for those it claims to help. As Moeletsi Mbeki once pointed out, ‘when a listed company whose shareholders include the black workers’ pension funds gives 10% of its shares to the black politicians, it is redistributing the wealth of the black worker…to the politicians.’ Members of a small black elite have been able to exploit BEE to advance their status, while as many as three out of five black South Africans remain poor – and poverty is growing.
Yet another front to consider is that of taxation. Since 1994, the tax that government takes from South Africans and investors has increased, as a share of the size of the economy (GDP), from 21% to 30%. South Africans have never been taxed this highly before (pre- or post-1994). This threatens the survival of families and businesses (which, on top of this, have to make regulatory, licensing, BEE and compliance payments). And even with such high taxation, South Africans are compelled by poor state services to pay out of their own pockets for services such as private security, generators (especially for businesses when load-shedding occurs), transport, and even quality education and healthcare.
‘Dismal decline’
In a Centre for Risk Analysis (CRA) video last month, analyst Gerbrandt van Heerden pointed out that our Constitution obligates local governments to provide communities with adequate services, including access to pure water, electricity, affordable and reliable transport, and waste removal. He stated: ‘Unfortunately, in the last few years, we’ve seen a dismal decline in the provision of … services.’ He referred to the 2018 Ratings Africa Municipal Financial Stability Index, which determined that three quarters of our municipalities were in financial distress – with ‘major repercussions for service delivery’. According to Van Heerden, only two thirds of households in Limpopo have access to a basic sanitation facility, and ‘even more shockingly’, two thirds of Mpumalanga and Free State households have either irregular or no waste removal.
Yet, far from acknowledging and addressing these issues, the state continues to show contempt for citizens – particularly if they are poor and vulnerable, or protest against this abuse. January saw disabled citizens being sprayed with a water cannon in Bellville. They had simply been queuing to renew their grants, yet police deemed it necessary to drench them with water in the name of enforcing social distancing. Or consider the callous killing of an innocent bystander when police opened fire during student protests in Braamfontein last month. These acts of physical violence against citizens make a clear statement about the value (or lack thereof) accorded them by the state.
Rather than taking responsibility – for example, by taking practical steps towards cutting out corruption, ending damaging and debilitating policies such as expropriation without compensation (EWC) and BEE, addressing official incompetence and lack of discipline (especially in the police force) – many politicians sow seeds of racial hatred, using race as a scapegoat for the corruption and mismanagement that have robbed South Africans of the dream, the chance we were promised.
Government spokespeople and leaders insist that they care about democracy and the plight of the poor, yet just a week ago (19 April 2021) Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma declared: ‘On the occasion of the centenary celebration of the ANC in 2012, we declared the Decade of the Cadre, and committed to revitalise all aspects of our Cadre Policy – recruitment, cadre development, deployment and accountability, as well as cadre preservation.’ It is the interests of a small group of cadres that they serve, not struggling South Africans living below the breadline. The government continues to press for policies such as EWC, regardless of the suffering that disinvestment and capital flight will cause the poorest of South Africans.
Not as powerless as you may feel
In the midst of this bleak scenario, however, the Institute of Race Relations (IRR) spurs citizens to recognise that they are not as powerless as they may feel.
We say, do not give up, you have a voice! I have repeatedly asked of colleagues: ‘Is there a point in doing this? Does writing letters and petitions make a difference?’
One of them, Gabriel Crouse, who is not what I would call an idealistic optimist at all (most of my colleagues seem to have a very healthy dose of realism) provided the following answer in conversation with Big Daddy Liberty outside the Union Buildings, on the day we went to deliver the memorandum referred to at the top of this piece:
‘In countries like Russia, people had to put their lives on the line in the gulag. We are still in a position where you can fight with your mind, with your words and with your voice. That is an honourable thing to do, it’s a practical thing to do and it does make a difference. To put it in one clear way; when the Expropriation Bill was first tabled at Nasrec at the end of 2017 and by Cyril Ramaphosa at the beginning of 2018, [its proponents] said, “We need to expropriate property without compensation to make poor, black people rich”. That was an insane argument. It will do just the opposite. And no one makes that argument anymore. For the last two years, people that push the Bill have said, “We need to push this Bill so that we won’t use it. We promise never to use it.” That’s the battle of ideas. We’ve cornered them in a very serious sense. That sets us up for the next step, to make arguments in court, to make arguments in the public sphere, to make arguments with diplomats around the world, that this Bill is deeply flawed and that when it is enacted, inevitably some municipal officer is going to try take a chance, that we can be there to defend that person. Freedom is indivisible. Property rights are a fundamental freedom and they are indivisible. If one of us is not free, if one of us can have their stuff taken by the government for no good reason, then all of us can have that [done to us]. This is the fundamental mission and the thing that should energise people who are feeling despondent: while we’re still in a free society, take advantage of your power, the power of the citizen, to #StopCitizenAbuse.’
Your stories
We at the Institute want to hear your stories, either of abuse you have experienced at the hands of the state, or of how you have taken proactive steps to look after your community, stepping in where the government or municipality fails. Contact us by emailing your story to amy-claire@irr.org.za, and become a friend of the IRR by SMSing your name to 32823.
[Image: Anja #helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy from Pixabay]
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