ActionSA’s announcement of Xolani Khumalo, former Sizok’thola host and self-styled anti-drug crusader, as its Ekurhuleni mayoral candidate is more than a local political move. It’s a moment that forces us to ask: what exactly makes a politician in South Africa today?
For years, Khumalo built his public persona on television, confronting alleged drug dealers and giving voice to communities failed by policing and governance. That image, bold, streetwise, unafraid, now becomes a political asset.
ActionSA’s framing of him as a “fearless, ethical leader” fits neatly into the populist narrative of the doer, the man who doesn’t wait for government red tape to act. But charisma and conviction alone don’t automatically translate into effective governance.
South Africa’s political landscape has become increasingly receptive to outsiders, activists, celebrities, preachers, businesspeople — anyone who appears untainted by the cynicism of established politics. It speaks volumes about how deeply trust in traditional politicians has eroded. Voters are no longer drawn to party manifestos or ideological nuance; they’re drawn to authenticity, or at least the appearance of it.
Increasingly, it’s not policy knowledge or party loyalty, it’s visibility, moral conviction and the ability to embody the public’s frustration.
But beneath that hunger for new faces lies a dangerous simplification: the belief that fighting crime or exposing corruption on TV prepares one to navigate the machinery of city governance, budgets, infrastructure, housing backlogs and institutional rot. Running a city like Ekurhuleni isn’t about catching criminals on camera; it’s about rebuilding public systems that allow them to thrive in the first place.
Khumalo’s nomination also reveals something about ActionSA’s strategy: the party is betting that recognition and moral symbolism carry more political weight than experience. And perhaps they’re right. In a country where politics has become synonymous with self-enrichment and betrayal, the bar for credibility has shifted from competence to character.
Still, it’s worth remembering that politics is not a performance. It’s administration, negotiation and accountability, the unglamorous work of turning outrage into outcomes. South Africans have seen too many “saviours” crash against the hard walls of bureaucracy, patronage and power politics. The real test for Khumalo won’t be in how loudly he condemns crime, but in whether he can translate that moral fervour into practical governance.
So what makes a politician in South Africa today? Increasingly, it’s not policy knowledge or party loyalty, it’s visibility, moral conviction and the ability to embody the public’s frustration. That says as much about our broken politics as it does about our appetite for hope.
The rise of figures like Khumalo tells us one thing: South Africans still yearn for leadership that feels real. The question is whether “real” will ever be enough to rebuild what’s been broken.
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