In innovation studies, they say necessity is the mother of invention. This means deprivation, orchestrated or not, has the potential to force us to be inventive.
In our South African reality, the inability (and sometimes it is sheer bureaucratic incompetence) of the state has, by default, spawned new economic sectors. The birth of new sectors (or subsectors) should ordinarily be welcomed because they add diversity and agility to an economy. But some of them would simply collapse if the state did what the state was established to do. That’s a terrible indictment not just on those who purport to lead, but on us all.
Let’s start at the beginning.
As South Africans, we have come to accept that we must always make a plan — or lower our expectations — around those with the responsibility to lead. And because of our history of apartheid and deprivation, we have been making plans to survive — even when we insist those ensconced in cushy offices should do their jobs and provide services.
In some cases, necessity has given fresh impetus to industries previously overtaken by services. A random drive around Limpopo province, for example, reveals a litany of subsectors now thriving thanks to the municipality’s consistent failure to supply water.
Numerous trucks, some belonging to the municipality and others privately owned but linked to some politicians, are used to ferry water for deprived locals hoping for a drop in their buckets. A business based on the transportation of water to township and rural folk is now lucrative where it made no sense 10 years ago.
As you enter Polokwane from the N1, one of the first things you see is people selling water containers. In Seshego, hardware shops are selling more JoJo tanks than ever. Water pumps are now en vogue for the nouveau riche. A whole ecosystem has developed on the basis of the municipality’s failure to provide water.
The fence, much like the burglar doors and security cameras around the house, functions simply as a delaying tactic against criminals. So you become more inventive to ensure your survival.
Sadly, that’s one of many examples. The basis of the security industry itself is, of course, the government’s failure to protect us. Electric fences are no longer a mark of security for those in the north of Johannesburg and estates around the country, they’ve become a necessity. Yet when the lights go off, your electric fence, that supposed first layer of protection, becomes obsolete.
South Africans are now forced by this (power deprivation in addition to lack of security) to make another plan: source an inverter or generator, if you can afford one. Otherwise, you become a sitting duck. Even then, there are no guarantees the criminals who just happen to be more determined than police will not come for you and your family. The fence, much like the burglar doors and security cameras around the house, functions simply as a delaying tactic against criminals. So you, as it were, become more inventive to ensure your survival.
It’s a shame.
Linked to power deprivation is the cleaner-energy sector that is blooming not so much because many of us are falling over ourselves to save the planet, which we should, but because we are simply gatvol of Eskom and the government’s inability to keep the lights on.
It is this dysfunction that, in our country, has spawned new sectors and breathed life into others. In almost all sectors of the economy, there are subsectors coining it simply because those hoisted to positions of authority have become inured to the need to become servant leaders. Water supply is, in some cases, sabotaged simply because the water trucks must do the rounds so the municipality, and by extension, residents, must be billed. And of course, poor voters must huddle around on street corners at the crack of dawn in the hope that the municipal water truck does not miss them. Whatever happened to a better life for all?
Statisticians project that the security industry will grow to $149m (R2.6bn) by 2027 from its $86.4m (R1.6bn) in 2022. This is what we collectively spend because we have no hope of protection from the state. This means if you’re looking to the state to be secure, or you listen to police minister Bheki Cele with some sense of hope, you must forget it. The poor in Khayelitsha and Seshego are left to their own devices.
The mistake some in the ANC make is to think they will win elections on the basis of a beautiful, razzmatazz-type election campaign. It’s the same as thinking you might win internal promotion within your company through the beautifully chosen words you use during an interview and not by how you conduct yourself within the company even before a vacancy arises.
By the time interviews are conducted, those who matter already know you for who you are the same way the electorate will know the horror movie the ANC is subjecting them to without water, without electricity, without security in their homes, without borders, without functioning hospitals and clinics and without ... whatever is relevant to you!
The new lords of Luthuli House would do themselves a world of good if they didn’t rely on razzmatazz but on quickly firing mayors and ministers who have no sense of urgency. Providing quality service expeditiously is not even about winning elections; it is, given our history of deprivation, the right thing to do. If it wins you elections, fine. But we owe it to Mandela, Biko, Sobukwe and others to create, for this country, the best future possible.
We should not force South Africans to be inventive needlessly. Meanwhile, can someone tell President Cyril Ramaphosa not to bring his slow nature to 2023, please? We need that cabinet reshuffle soon. It is not an end in itself ...
