President Cyril Ramaphosa’s about-turn this week on perks for ministers has revealed two things. The first is that the president does not apply his mind when making important decisions. The second is that he is tone deaf to the mood of the country.
When he was appointed in 2018, Ramaphosa instilled hope into the hearts of many with his promise to end the voracious misuse of state funds that had characterised the previous decade.
The following year South Africans cheered as he clipped the wings of high-flying ministers, introducing an updated version of the ministerial handbook that barred them from splurging on luxury cars, flying first-class and taking their spouses on unlimited international trips. The nation rejoiced, memories still fresh in their minds of the numerous trips to the UK, China and the US that former finance minister Malusi Gigaba and his then wife Norma had enjoyed the previous year at a cost to the taxpayer of close to R900,000.
Ramaphosa also drastically reduced the number of private staff for ministers and slashed back other perks, citing austerity measures, a tough economic environment and plummeting tax revenue.
For a minute, it seemed this was a president on a mission to create a culture of putting the voters first, with zero tolerance for abuse of state funds or even a hint of a gravy train.
Fast-forward three years and Ramaphosa’s shining star has faded to little more than an acrid gas, thanks to his inability to implement promised reforms, his hidden wads of cash in a sofa at Phala Phala and now the revelation that he acquiesced to his fat cat cabinet by allowing them unlimited free water and electricity as well as additional staff to make their already cushy lives even more comfortable.
Surely he must have foreseen that the public would not take kindly to this government extravagance? Or was he hoping no-one would notice?
Food aides, household aides and portfolio co-ordinators are among the new posts created for ministers, with some of these positions paying up to R1m a year and costing the battered taxpayer about R87m a year.
Once the news broke, Ramaphosa lumbered into damage control mode. His spin doctor Vincent Magwenya made a valiant attempt to justify the reasons for the added perks, maintaining that “the intention was to try to find some form of balance between what ministers could afford to pay vs some of the costs they have”.
Unsurprisingly, that went down like a lead balloon and there was nothing more he could say other than to confirm that Ramaphosa had withdrawn the presidential minute on the ministerial handbook for 2022 pending a review, and that the president was “aware of the challenges South Africans face daily”.
It is astounding that the president thought for a minute that a nation, battered by a cost of living crisis, would accept these obscene new perks without question.
Can he really be so out of touch with the majority of South Africans, who are battling to find jobs and put food on the table? Who have to endure endless bouts of load-shedding and days without running water?
Surely he must have foreseen that the public would not take kindly to this government extravagance? Or was he hoping no-one would notice?
Some may argue that cabinet ministers in the past enjoyed such perks and perhaps even better ones. But that was a different era. This sort of behaviour can no longer be ignored and overlooked.
The state capture commission exposed the brazen manner in which politicians and government officials looted state coffers so they could live in luxury. We are paying for the cost of that corruption today. The mood in SA had changed, and there is now zero tolerance for this kind of reckless spending and lack of restraint.
Ramaphosa has overlooked this fact at his own peril.










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