AYANDA ALLIE | Why politics, why me, why now?

Whenever I think about today’s politics, the words of controversial American writer Jeffrey Tucker come to mind: “Politics is a dirty business, a ruse, an ideological cul-de-sac, a vast looter of intellectual and financial resources, a lie that corrupts, a deceiver, a means of unleashing vast evil in the world of the most unexpected and undetected sort and the greatest diverter of human productivity ever concocted by those who do not believe in authentic social and economic progress.”

With such a grim outlook why would anyone with options enter the messy and merciless South African political arena, willingly and unprovoked?

Well, I’ve made no secret of my origins. I’d gladly shout it from the rooftops that I am from Dobsonville, Soweto. I’m proud of the mesmerising sights and sounds of my township upbringing.

Between the old lady yelling at insolent children who have defiled her well-manicured garden and taxi drivers hooting and hollering, vying for the attention of would-be passengers. From the lady selling sun-scorched fruit on the side of the road to young men gambling near the corner shop; all these experiences shaped me.

Though homely — at least for me — it was no heaven by any stretch of the imagination. We had our fair share of societal ills. But among the residents of this bustling neighbourhood there was a great deal of hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, hope that one day, someday soon, help would come and things would change for the be better.

I soon grew up and became tall enough to look reality in the eye, face-to-face and realise help would not come unless we ourselves become.

This realisation did not hit me in one big bang but in waves, incrementally. First a whisper, then a gentle nudge, until it could no longer be ignored.

First, I saw promising young girls fight the stigma of teenage pregnancy with varying degrees of success. I saw able-bodied young men rendered useless as they take on the identity of a “para” or drug addict. I saw alcohol abuse reach crisis proportions and sexual assault visited upon old women and children. Like Adam and Eve when they partook of the fruit, my eyes become open and I saw our nakedness as a society.

I felt a subtle fluttering, edging me to do something, anything. And so, as a young journalist, I decided to start Bukho Bami Youth Centre. There, for eight years and counting, we would provide a safe after-school care facility for senior high school pupils in Dobsonville; facilitating education skills development, career guidance, mentorship, recreational and psychosocial programmes.

I saw some progress, a drop in the ocean, but progress nonetheless.

My eyes continued to see what could not be unseen. I saw prisons swallow up young black bodies whole, families torn apart by unemployment and unemployability. I saw neglected, dejected and dehumanised African faces in endless queues for basic services. Hours spent waiting to certify a document at the police station, people exposed to the elements in the wee hours of the morning outside home affairs, others paying an arm and a leg in transportation costs because the railway line has been vandalised. The system was broken.

My internal fluttering became a firm elbowing. And so I joined government in an attempt to help fix the system from within.

Still, from the inside, my eyes would not be blinded by the noble attempts of some well-meaning civil servants. Though I willed them shut, the gross underspending of much needed capital expenditure budgets, deliberate hollowing out of public entities and the ineptitude and lack of political will to make the right decisions could not escape my purview.

I grew increasingly uncomfortable; push came to shove and I left the public sector. But not before attaining a master’s degree in public administration.

I then came full circle, back to media and grassroots movements. I believe both sectors help to fill the gaps of an administration that leaves gaping holes as it runs roughshod over the dignity and human rights of its citizens — intentionally or otherwise.

Yet still in familiar territory of broadcasting and community development, I could not be comforted. I saw the most valiant in these fields were treating the symptoms. While this is a notable, necessary and life-saving intervention, it does not address the root causes. This also unsettled me.

And now, in 2024, the slight mutter within me has grown into a growling blare and I fear it cannot be consoled. Every time I drive past the Florida, Roodepoort and Johannesburg CBD I used to frequent with my parents as a child, and I see the dilapidation and destruction, the roar grows louder. Every time my children go to bed at night in total darkness because of a power outage, only to wake up with no electricity once more, that volume grows louder still. Every time I as a woman I have to think twice or thrice about walking from point A to B because of safety concerns, the fury is deafening.

This said, I am counted among the privileged in South Africa. I dare not share some of the harrowing stories of some of our stakeholders at Bukho Bami. It is shameful what they have had to endure.

I cannot take it any more. Something has got to give. But what to do?

I was not there during the woman’s march of 1956 or the youth uprising of 1976. I only came trudging along onto God’s green earth in 1986, but I imagine the women and youth of those times had also simply had it with the injustice which surrounded and smothered them incessantly, relentlessly and suffocatingly.

I assume action no longer became a choice but a natural byproduct.

You see, I too am not driven my any ideology. I have no vendetta against my former colleagues in government, I have no point to prove or scores to settle. I don’t even know if I can call myself a politician. All I know is I am entering the political arena and I do so under the banner of Build One South Africa led by Mmusi Maimane and Nobuntu Hlazo-Webster; because as a black woman, mother and ordinary member of society, I am tired.

I have simply had enough!

So yes, Jeffrey Tucker’s description of politics being a “dirty business” may have some merit. But so do the utterings of Greek statesman George Papandreou who encourages that while politics is a difficult game, it doesn't have to be dirty. And if that doesn’t convince you to join me in rolling up your sleeves and putting your hands to the plough, then let me leave you with the warnings of writer Will Shetterly: “If you do not do politics, politics will be done to you.”

Ayana Allie is a communication specialist and community development practitioner and will serve as Bosa's communications director. She is an aspirant candidate for parliament representing Soweto. She is a former spokesperson for the ministry of transport and a former radio and TV broadcaster. She is a musician and author. She is also the founder of Bukho Bami Youth Centre, an after school care project which provides academic assistance to teenagers in under-resourced communities.