The image of the haughty dictator and his cavalcade of heavies barrelling down a public road, skittling citizens onto broken sidewalks and leaving them spluttering in the dust, is a defining motif of the uncaring state. This week’s highway road rage by deputy president Paul Mashatile’s bodyguards has gone around the world, a stain on our claim to being a nation that puts dignity above all else. A middle finger to civility.
The attempt to portray the blue-light bandits as “bad apples” should not be allowed to become a handy camouflage to obscure the pathology infecting those who vow to serve the people, yet treat its individual members with spectacular disdain.
In defence of Mashatile’s bodyguards, it would be less than honest to not concede that they wouldn’t be the first motorists who’ve wanted to visit terrible harm on the driver of a VW Polo. A danger to all who encounter it, the Polo is the EFF of mid-level motoring, full-speed ahead, and rear-view and side mirrors that are entirely decorative. All accelerator and hooter. For the ANC though, we’re all just Polo drivers and we better get out the way.
Take the case of Free State woman Julia Madam, killed on the roadside recently in the northern Free State by a car registered to the Ngwathe local municipality. Mayor Victoria de Beer-Mthombeni, who was in the car at the time, gave groceries to the grieving family, but stayed away from the funeral because of ongoing investigations. Now the family is distraught that no arrests have been made. The “process to obtain statements continues”, according to a news report.
Other cases would also not have been captured on video and the complainants told to lay a charge at their friendly police station. And after doing so, to keep an eye on their rear-view mirror.
As you see the bodyguard, some may say, so you see the politician, and ANC politicians set an example by ducking responsibility for a style of government that is less than deeply respectful of the people they are meant to serve. We are to make ourselves available on election days: on all other days we’re to be kicked senseless by powdered brutes rushing some overpaid dignitary to an appointment the usefulness of which is seldom obvious. Or even that urgent.
When the bodyguards of self-important ANC politicians push citizens off the road, smashing windscreens with R5 rifles and kicking them into submission, they must imagine their bosses will, if not applaud their actions, at least condone them. It’s hardly a secret that being in the circle of trust means being above the law.
How does one explain the apparent freedom to operate as he sees fit enjoyed by the head of the presidential guard, Wally Rhoode, apparently running his own private investigation after the Phala Phala theft and, later, berating Polish officials as racist because they wouldn't allow his weapons stash into the country?
It’s hardly a promising start for the man said to be impatient to replace President Cyril Ramaphosa. No wonder his guys don’t want other guys in a blue Polo looking at him too closely right now. Might have been DA. Even worse, an ex-girlfriend.
Our political culture promotes gangsterism, complete with a code of silence (and dress code sometimes too) and cover-ups of thieving and corruption. The assassination of Gauteng health department whistle-blower Babita Deokaran bears testimony to the lengths the politically connected will go to.
To be ANC is too often to be comfortably above the law, or at least at ease within the whiff of corruption and scandal. Recent media revelations have highlighted Mashatile’s social ties with figures implicated in state capture, notably tenderpreneur Edwin Sodi. Mashatile has rejected claims of wrongdoing, but it’s hardly a promising start for the man said to be impatient to replace President Cyril Ramaphosa. No wonder his guys don’t want other guys in a blue Polo looking at him too closely right now. Might have been DA. Even worse, an ex-girlfriend.
Nor has there been much contrition or taking political responsibility for what went down on the highway, which is unsurprising.
Instead of governing for those it claims to uplift, ANC leaders habitually act as a passing parade for misplaced hope. They arrive amid fanfare, offering “promise politics”, lying about hospitals, schools, recreation facilities and policing. We’ll do better, is the refrain. Failure is the common theme, not for lack of resources as claimed but because too many people don’t do their jobs. Cue ANC politician’s convoy kicking up a storm of dust before racing off to the next photo opportunity.
ANC worthies like to address each other with the moniker “comrade”, happy to trade on its suggestions of egalitarianism and revolutionary self-sacrifice. Talk like Havana, live like Monte Carlo. Drive like it too.
They are the first to claim their hands are tied by the constitution, the last to take any responsibility for the rot that their ostentatious political and personal lifestyles encourage. They go through the motions of government with languor, but work energetically to enrich themselves. The losers are pushed to the roadside of history by a convoy of avarice powered by high-octane self-righteousness and piety.
ANC government, in practice, tends to celebrate force over persuasion, guile over knowledge, connections over equal opportunity. Note how easily the contributions of business and civil society are dismissed when legislation is being devised. And contrast that with the scramble to cave in at displays of civil disorder and looting during so-called protests. No tin ear then.
ANC secretary-general Fikile Mbalula cautions that images of people being beaten by presidential bouncers can cause revolutions, and he is right in that it speaks of abuse of power and a sense of living above the law. Perhaps he should look closer to home.
Punish the roadside thugs by all means, but don’t pretend they aren’t symptomatic of a deeper malaise. Why not also take stock of a style of rule that suggests a level of contempt for the people that offers itself as a favour to be returned?
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