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06 July 2021 | Story Prof Sethulego Matebesi | Photo Sonia Small (Kaleidoscope Stuidos)
Prof Sethulego Matebesi is an Associate Professor at the Department of Sociology at the University of the Free State.

Opinion article by Prof Sethulego Matebesi, Associate Professor at the Department of Sociology, University of the Free State


More than two centuries ago, Patrick Henry of the Boston Tea Party noted, “Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? … give me liberty or give me death.”

 

This statement resonates with the current political theatre set up in Nkandla near the homestead of former President Jacob Zuma. In attendance are many Zuma loyalists of all walks of life. For these Zuma loyalists, their presence at Nkandla symbolises their unparalleled love for their leader, whom they regard as a champion of the poor and the needy. But at the same time, I reckon they want to convey a bold message of their understanding of an expansive idea of what democracy and justice entail.

Notwithstanding this, democracy delivered Donald Trump to America and Zuma to South Africa. But, as intriguing as the contributions of many South African commentators who have compared the two former presidents, one thing is clear: they had all the power to the right things but failed.

The recent sentencing of Zuma by the Constitutional Court for contempt in defying its order to appear before the Judicial Commission of Inquiry into Allegations of State Capture, has created widespread anxiety. Some described this as a resounding affirmation of the independence of the judiciary and the rule of law. Along with this affirmation, so it is believed, is the possibility of solidifying political renewal. For the ardent Zuma supporters, however, the judgement represents a dangerous moment and a threat to the values of South African democracy. 

Ascendance to the political stage 

Undoubtedly, the sentencing of Zuma resurrects an ancient metaphor that life is like a never-ending play in which people are actors. Accordingly, democracy thrust Mr Zuma as the lead actor onto the stage of politics in South Africa in 2009. Of course, there had been several doubts about Zuma’s credibility, long before his ascendance to political power. But we live in a liberal era in which an extensive political background hardly matters anymore. However, history would later suggest that we have erred.

Since becoming President of South Africa, many euphemisms have been used to describe the leadership of Zuma. One of the most scathing euphemisms came from President Cyril Ramaphosa and Finance Minister Tito Mboweni’s reference to the Jacob Zuma presidency as nine wasted years. Similarly, taking a look at history, one wonders who of the twelve former presidents of the ANC shaped Zuma’s notions of power and political identity. Could it be that he embodies the spirit of the founders of the ANC, such as, for example, Josiah Gumede, John Dube, Oliver Tambo, or Sol Plaatje?
Some co-actors in the Nkandla play may mumble that Zuma’s sin is that he is a courageous leader who was not afraid to take risks in facing and dealing with the country’s challenges. For them, Zuma has been able – thus far – to successfully challenge the hegemony of the judiciary and the problems arising from rent-seeking legacies and patronage within the apartheid system that is now blamed on their leader. Such praise comes despite some viewing it as a political tenure that eschewed good governance and financial prudence principles.

A theatre script that went horribly wrong

A conclusion about the play’s primary character is that he has continued – from a supporter’s perspective – to depict the vulgarity of the judiciary in threatening democracy in the country. A root problem with the primary character is the intensity of commitment observed each time he displays his visceral hatred for the judiciary yet performs erratically and confusing when he explains why he did not use the opportunity to state his case. Instead, using his trademark of indiscernible pride, Zuma and his supporters are drawing hysterical comparisons between his sentencing and how the apartheid government was pardoned.

In essence, none of this is surprising. The convergence at Nkandla is symptomatic of an aggrieved group seeking to fight back and exorcising themselves of the destructive spirit of the ANC’s Nasrec elections in 2017. These are acts of delusion – the inevitable result of a political theatre script gone horribly wrong. 

The acid test for the health and vitality of democratic institutions

There have been deliberate attempts by the ruling elite in Africa to narrow the judiciary’s scope since the advent of the third wave of democratisation on the continent. As a result, the euphoria that sees South Africa as a beacon of entrenched constitutionalism in the Southern African region, is waning at an alarming rate. Even more disturbing is the disregard for the rule of law by the political elite, which can manifest itself at different societal levels.

One of the pathways to the current crisis has been the profoundly divisive factional battles of the ANC. The factional is the longer-term context in which the judiciary must affirm its centrality in providing appropriate enforcement mechanisms for constitutionalism. However, any form of back-door concessions for the political elite will be misguided and reckless. South Africans should never again proceed down the road of ideological politicking at the expense of constitutional supremacy. Such a path dissipates the rights of the people.

News Archive

Media: Sunday Times
2006-05-20

Sunday Times, 4 June 2006

True leadership may mean admitting disunity
 

In this edited extract from the inaugural King Moshoeshoe Memorial Lecture at the University of the Free State, Professor Njabulo S Ndebele explores the leadership challenges facing South Africa

RECENT events have created a sense that we are undergoing a serious crisis of leadership in our new democracy. An increasing number of highly intelligent, sensitive and committed South Africans, across class, racial and cultural spectrums, confess to feeling uncertain and vulnerable as never before since 1994.

When indomitable optimists confess to having a sense of things unhinging, the misery of anxiety spreads. We have the sense that events are spiralling out of control and that no one among the leadership of the country seems to have a definitive handle on things.

There can be nothing more debilitating than a generalised and undefined sense of anxiety in the body politic. It breeds conspiracies and fear.

There is an impression that a very complex society has developed, in the last few years, a rather simple, centralised governance mechanism in the hope that delivery can be better and more quickly driven. The complexity of governance then gets located within a single structure of authority rather than in the devolved structures envisaged in the Constitution, which should interact with one another continuously, and in response to their specific settings, to achieve defined goals. Collapse in a single structure of authority, because there is no robust backup, can be catastrophic.

The autonomy of devolved structures presents itself as an impediment only when visionary cohesion collapses. Where such cohesion is strong, the impediment is only illusory, particularly when it encourages healthy competition, for example, among the provinces, or where a province develops a character that is not necessarily autonomous politically but rather distinctive and a special source of regional pride. Such competition brings vibrancy to the country. It does not necessarily challenge the centre.

Devolved autonomy is vital in the interests of sustainable governance. The failure of various structures to actualise their constitutionally defined roles should not be attributed to the failure of the prescribed governance mechanism. It is too early to say that what we have has not worked. The only viable corrective will be in our ability to be robust in identifying the problems and dealing with them concertedly.

We have never had social cohesion in South Africa — certainly not since the Natives’ Land Act of 1913. What we definitely have had over the decades is a mobilising vision. Could it be that the mobilising vision, mistaken for social cohesion, is cracking under the weight of the reality and extent of social reconstruction, and that the legitimate framework for debating these problems is collapsing? If that is so, are we witnessing a cumulative failure of leadership?

I am making a descriptive rather than an evaluative inquiry. I do not believe that there is any single entity to be blamed. It is simply that we may be a country in search of another line of approach. What will it be?

I would like to suggest two avenues of approach — an inclusive model and a counter-intuitive model of leadership.

In an inclusive approach, leadership is exercised not only by those who have been put in some position of power to steer an organisation or institution. Leadership is what all of us do when we express, sincerely, our deepest feelings and thoughts; when we do our work, whatever it is, with passion and integrity.

Counter-intuitive leadership lies in the ability of leaders to read a problematic situation, assess probable outcomes and then recognise that those outcomes will only compound the problem. Genuine leadership, in this sense, requires going against probability in seeking unexpected outcomes. That’s what happened when we avoided a civil war and ended up with an “unexpected” democracy.

Right now, we may very well hear desperate calls for unity, when the counter-intuitive imperative would be to acknowledge disunity. A declaration of unity where it manifestly does not appear to exist will fail to reassure.

Many within the “broad alliance” might have the view that the mobilising vision of old may have transformed into a strategy of executive steering with a disposition towards an expectation of compliance. No matter how compelling the reasons for that tendency, it may be seen as part of a cumulative process in which popular notions of democratic governance are apparently undermined and devalued; and where public uncertainty in the midst of seeming crisis induces fear which could freeze public thinking at a time when more voices ought to be heard.

Could it be that part of the problem is that we are unable to deal with the notion of opposition? We are horrified that any of us could be seen to have become “the opposition”. The word has been demonised. In reality, it is time we began to anticipate the arrival of a moment when there is no longer a single, overwhelmingly dominant political force as is currently the case. Such is the course of history. The measure of the maturity of the current political environment will be in how it can create conditions that anticipate that moment rather than seek to prevent it. We see here once more the essential creativity of the counter-intuitive imperative.

This is the formidable challenge of a popular post-apartheid political movement. Can it conceptually anticipate a future when it is no longer overwhelmingly in control, in the form in which it is currently, and resist, counter-intuitively, the temptation to prevent such an eventuality? Successfully resisting such an option would enable its current vision and its ultimate legacy to our country to manifest in different articulations, which then contend for social influence. In this way, the vision never really dies; it simply evolves into higher, more complex forms of itself. Consider the metaphor of flying ants replicating the ant community by establishing new ones.

We may certainly experience the meaning of comradeship differently, where we will now have “comrades on the other side”.

Any political movement that imagines itself as a perpetual entity should look at the compelling evidence of history. Few movements have survived those defining moments when they should have been more elastic, and that because they were not, did not live to see the next day.

I believe we may have reached a moment not fundamentally different from the sobering, yet uplifting and vision-making, nation-building realities that led to Kempton Park in the early ’90s. The difference between then and now is that the black majority is not facing white compatriots across the negotiating table. Rather, it is facing itself: perhaps really for the first time since 1994. Could we apply to ourselves the same degree of inventiveness and rigorous negotiation we displayed leading up to the adoption or our Constitution?

This is not a time for repeating old platitudes. It is the time, once more, for vision.

In the total scheme of things, the outcome could be as disastrous as it could be formative and uplifting, setting in place the conditions for a true renaissance that could be sustained for generations to come.

Ndebele is Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cape Town and author of the novel The Cry of Winnie Mandela

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