Everyday corruption, every day

David Shapiro: There's a new game in town. It's not played with a round ball, on a manicured lawn and watched by thousands of vuvuzela-blowing fans, but late at night on the streets of the northern suburbs with the same team always victorious.

Driving home close to midnight after a dinner with friends last Saturday, I was stopped on a quiet, deserted suburban road, less than a kilometre from my home, by a van with a flashing blue light.

My heart sank and my pulse began to race. I was not speeding, had not skipped a red light and was not talking on a cellphone. I was wearing my seat belt. Looking into my rear-view mirror the official markings on the vehicle were obscured and my fears grew when a man alighted wearing a black beanie drawn over his forehead.

My initial thoughts were that my wife and I were about to be robbed by hijackers posing as police officers, but after the young man peering into my car satisfied me he was a genuine policeman, I indignantly rolled down my window inquiring why I had been stopped. Instinctively, though, I knew exactly what lay ahead.

Numerous stories were doing the rounds of police prowling casinos, nightclubs and function halls, waiting to ambush the occupants of, generally, expensive-looking cars as they left the venues.

For the hapless prey, the threat of a night in a treacherous South African jail and the perils of a criminal record, should they be found to have exceeded the legal alcohol limit, was enough to shock them into begging for mercy while at the same time emptying the contents of their wallets.

It's an entertaining sport for our public protectors and far less harrowing than chasing traffic offenders, housebreakers or other dangerous criminals who lurk the streets. And, naturally, it's considerably more bountiful.

The policeman at my window politely removed his headgear and asked to see my driver's licence, which was perfectly in order.

After a few routine questions about where I lived, and how long I had owned my car and so on, I was quizzed whether I had been drinking. I admitted that earlier in the evening I had toasted some friends from abroad with a glass of champagne and, because I was training the next morning, had nursed a glass of rosé through my meal.

The tiny molecules of alcohol that managed to penetrate my bloodstream were probably doused by good helpings of butternut soup, kabeljou, creme brulee, sparkling mineral water and cups of coffee. I was stone cold sober. Still, we continued the charade.

I was accused of smelling of liquor and asked to blow into "that thing" in the van. I objected, flatly refusing to leave my car, determined not to be intimidated.

Astounded by my obduracy, my interrogator and his colleague, who had remained in the van, backed down. I was pleased for their sakes. At least they had not harmed their reputations and disgraced their uniforms in my presence.

The more I mulled over this small incident the more it posed questions about life in South Africa.

South Africa is an immensely wealthy country - rich in minerals and blessed with abundant natural beauty. It has all the hardware in place to establish an affluent and prosperous nation - First World infrastructure, a developed manufacturing and financial base, well-equipped hospitals, established schools and universities and a plentiful supply of land and labour.

Yet, as long as I have lived here - I'm 62 - the country has operated on defective software: leadership whose guiding principles, moral judgment and flawed value systems have failed to unify the broad population with a strong sense of what is right or wrong.

There was a time, back in 1994, though, when the world looked on us with glee as the nation stood behind the flag in harmony, proud of the new hope we represented. We have a chance to come together all over again this Friday.

Let's pray we can learn from our past errors and make the trust last a little longer this time.