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21 March 2024 Photo SUPPLIED
Prof Anthony Turton
Prof Anthony Turton is a water expert from the University of the Free State Centre for Environmental Management.

Opinion article by Prof Anthony Turton, Centre for Environmental Management, University of Free State.


On 30 May 2008, I was a guest speaker at the 10th Africa Day Conference hosted by UNISA in Pretoria. That was the first time I asked whether South Africa could become a failed state, citing international data on water scarcity. The evidence that I cited was visually powerful, but incomplete, so uncompelling. Yet that data confirmed work we had been doing at the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR) in the aftermath of the publication of the National Water Resource Strategy (NWRS) in 2002. The NWRS data indicated that we had reached the limit of our water resource. We were forward-looking, and therefore in need of a model that could inform us about the future.

Approaching the water barrier

I had been impressed by the work done by Malin Falkenmark, an acclaimed Swedish scientist. She worked on the “hydraulic density of population” that measures the number of people that were competing for a given unit of water. She determined that a finite limit of 2 000 people per million litres per annum was the limit of known social stability. Any country approaching that “water barrier” would become increasingly unstable, and unless dealt with by means of technological intervention, would eventually disintegrate as a functional state.

Global data was placing us in the same risk category as the Middle East, but we also had a vibrant science, engineering and technology (SET) capability – a hangover from our arms development during the sanctions era – so we could avoid a disaster. This is the origin of my interest in state failure. By ignoring these warnings, we could see growing anarchy, increased unemployment, loss of investor confidence and the eventual collapse of the economy.

As society approaches the water barrier, policy options need to change. Before we reach the water barrier, the policy is all about building infrastructure to mobilise water for economic development. After the transition to fundamental water scarcity – when 2 000 people compete for one flow unit of water – the policy must logically be about retaining social cohesion. We must learn how to do better things with the little water we have left. This means protecting our rivers while developing the technology for recycling and recovery of water from waste and the ocean. Stated simply, my model was about the ability of an organ of state to self-correct.

The Vaal River case study

To self-correct, a coherent set of decision-making processes and procedures need to be in place. Data must flow into this decision-making black box. It must be processed and interpreted to the point where it triggers a logical decision to do something. That something is complex, for it is often abstract. It is very different to what has always been done in the past, so it requires imagination and cognitive skills embedded in a team of professionals that support the decision-making elites.

The Vaal River offers a unique case study in state failure because water lettuce was unknown before 2021. This means that when it was first reported to Rand Water at 14:31 on 5 February 2021, nobody knew what to do about it. The first person to respond was Francois van Wyk, a competent environmental scientist and water quality specialist at Rand Water. Responding immediately to the image, he launched an investigation on the river itself. As this was happening, river property owners sent an e-mail to the CEO of Rand Water on 10 February. We can therefore identify two specific moments of data input into the black box of decision-making that Rand Water represents. Van Wyk submitted his first formal report to the monthly management meeting during the second week of March 2021. We know that in March 2021, Rand Water formally took note of the presence of water lettuce, reported from two different locations.

The plant in question was unknown, so there was no record of its explosive growth rate on South African rivers contaminated by sewage. The sewage had become an issue a decade earlier, culminating with the deployment of the South African Defence Force in 2019. With the perfect vision of hindsight, we now know that sewage, warm temperatures, and water lettuce equals explosive growth.

The officials became alarmed at the level of anger from society, so they started to make a series of flawed decisions. Central to that panic was the ill-advised use of Glyphosate, a highly controversial chemical not licensed for use on water lettuce in South Africa. The crisis overwhelmed the capacity of the state to respond. It was an emergency, so shortcuts were taken in the decision-making process. Assumptions were made that other entities knew more than they actually did. Relentless pressure from increasingly impatient landowners, losing business from the impenetrable raft of water lettuce, pushed the authorities over the edge. All these factors combined, resulting in the authorisation of Glyphosate on a river of national importance, but oblivious to the depth of public sensitivity over the chemical. Report 3107/1/23 from the Water Research Commission, cautioned the decision-maker on page 6 by drawing attention to known long-term impacts that are not yet understood, often caused by additives. This cautionary note lists hepatorenal risk (damage to liver and kidney), teratogenicity (mutations), tumorigenicity (tumour forming) and transgenerational risk (the probability that the next generation of people could be affected).

Time is no longer on our side

These are all serious matters requiring sober reflection and rational decision-making. We now know that the sands of time have run out. An invasive plant, unheard of in 2021, has literally overwhelmed the Vaal River in 2024. In three years, the bureaucratic processes could not avert a disaster that has the capacity to destroy the river on which 60% of the national economy and around 20 million humans depend. More importantly, what took five decades (2 650 months) to happen in Hartbeespoort Dam, occurred in just 36 months on the Vaal. And so, as we return to Malin Falkenmark and her water barrier, we can say with growing confidence, that we are destroying what little water we have left. Our inability to self-correct is accelerating the advance of the water barrier, beyond which economic development and social stability is increasingly unlikely. We are polluting the little water we have left, with a chemical that it highly contentious, yet was chosen as the last line of defence in a rapidly unfolding calamity. It was like grasping floating flotsam as the Titanic slipped under the water in the cold Atlantic Ocean.

We can also say that at precisely 14:31 on 5 February 2021, the state failed in the water sector, because it was unable to respond to a risk that had never been encountered before. The take-home message is that we need to wake up, because it is in nobody’s interest to live in a failing state. If water lettuce, feeding on sewage, can cause so much damage, then what about the pathogens also thriving in that same water? How long can we continue to discharge untreated sewage into our rivers and expect no public health risks?

Time is no longer on our side. The rate of change now exceeds the capacity of our decision-making processes to cope. The dominoes are falling. Let’s think out of the box and stop the flow of sewage into our rivers in the first place. Now that’s a radical thought indeed. 

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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