Ndaweni Mahlangu, then premier of Mpumalanga, stirred a hornet’s nest some years ago when, in an attempt to justify the appointment of admitted liars to his cabinet — among them David Mabuza, who was later to become the country’s deputy president — he pooh-poohed the outcry, bluntly reminding all and sundry that it was normal for politicians to lie.
“It is nothing new,” he said of the whoppers told by his grateful appointees. “It’s accepted and is not unusual anywhere in the world. I personally don’t find it to be a very bad thing,” he added for good measure.
After he was harshly criticised, he issued a mealy-mouthed apology which seemed to satisfy no-one.
Mahlangu, a former deputy chief minister of the apartheid-created KwaNdebele homeland, became something of a figure of fun after he appeared at the announcement of his appointment as premier in a rather untidy and slightly rumpled shirt, wearing no jacket or tie.
His appointment was apparently a mistake. He was not supposed to be the beneficiary of this plum job.
The story goes that then-president Thabo Mbeki, fresh from a sweeping ANC victory in the 1999 elections, had mixed up the names. He had somebody else in mind, but when the “wrong” Mahlangu turned up, the president duly appointed him anyway.
Which probably explains why he rocked up in a slightly dishevelled state. Already the butt of jokes, his comment about lying being a part of a politician’s armoury seemed to fit the bill. Some even accused him of bringing apartheid’s bad old habits into the new South Africa.
But there was a grain of truth in what he said. Forget about the politicians if what you’re looking for is moral rectitude. His only sin was probably to state it so blatantly.
The outcry over his remarks was, however, gratifying. It meant people cared about issues of morality. But if such a comment were to be made today, it’s doubtful whether anybody would even bat an eye — which goes to show how far down the moral quagmire the country has descended.
Appearing before the Madlanga commission, the enigmatic Brown Mogotsi was harshly upbraided by its chair, justice Mbuyiseli Madlanga, for knowingly lying under oath.
Lying has been normalised. It has become a national pastime. It was important that somebody of Madlanga’s stature in such a public forum told, not only Mogotsi, but the country as a whole, that lying is not okay. It’s a malignant virus which — if not curbed — could bode ill for the health of our democracy, if not society.
It took a while for Madlanga to draw out an admission from the recalcitrant Mogotsi, but it’s good that he persisted until he got a straight answer, for it provided a teachable moment for South Africa.
Lying has been normalised. It has become a national pastime. It was important that somebody of Madlanga’s stature in such a public forum told, not only Mogotsi, but the country as a whole, that lying is not okay. It’s a malignant virus which — if not curbed — could bode ill for the health of our democracy, if not society.
Unfortunately, the general view of politicians is of people always out to spin a yarn or pull wool over the public’s eyes in their desperate endeavour to feather their own nests. Honesty and our politics seem to be poles apart. Our democracy and the public service are the losers, as honest and skilled individuals often decide to give politics a wide berth.
The public has learnt to take what politicians say with a pinch of salt. Telling fibs is so prevalent in politics that even the president is known to tell a few porkies of his own.
Confronted by then DA leader Mmusi Maimane in parliament over the fact that his son had financially benefited from the scandal-riddled Bosasa, President Cyril Ramaphosa denied any knowledge of such a relationship.
But should it turn out to be true, he assured MPs, he would personally frogmarch his own son to the nearest police station. It later turned out that not only his son, but Ramaphosa himself, had benefited from the Bosasa largesse. They probably should have both been marched to the police station. But that would have been too much to ask.
Ramaphosa also told the Zondo commission about attending his son’s wedding in Kampala in Uganda. Bosasa CEO Gavin Watson, a friend of his son, was also there. But Ramaphosa claimed never to have met him, not even at the wedding. How is that possible? How many white people walk the streets of Kampala, let alone a confined space such as a wedding celebration?
The Phala Phala scandal, Ramaphosa’s enduring nightmare, would probably either have disappeared like a puff of smoke or had its damage somewhat mitigated had it not been deliberately blanketed in a tissue of lies.
Some of these lies have serious implications. After millions in PPE money was stolen by some of his comrade friends during the Covid lockdown, Ramaphosa said in a televised address that he had ordered an investigation into this outrage and undertook to give a progress report to the public every three months. That was the last time the public ever heard of the matter.
Sometimes the lies seem so unnecessary. Recently Ramaphosa claimed he had only once met Hangwani Maumela, one of the men behind the looting at Tembisa Hospital who is also a relative of his ex-wife, while on one of his morning walks. Which turned out not to be true. He could easily have said, “Look, I met the guy several times before. He’s a relative of my ex-wife, after all. But I wasn’t aware of what he was up to.” End of story.
Leaders set the pace and tone in any society and should be held to higher standards. Which means they should always act in a way they want others to follow.
We cannot therefore expect the likes of Mogotsi to tell the truth while leaders continue to be disdainful of it. And it’s not surprising that we’ve become probably one of the most corrupt countries in the world; lies and corruption are siblings, sired by dishonesty.
A nation that is tolerant of lies cannot but be corrupt. It’s a slippery slope.
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