The prospect of Donald Trump and Cyril Ramaphosa speaking face to face in the coming days seems somewhat fraught as an irresistible force meets an immovable object, or at least as an irresistible farce meets the immovably abject.
Certainly, as Ramaphosa revealed that the conversation might happen “soon”, some South Africans seem to be anticipating a sort of prizefight, with a few right-wingers on social media expressing the hope that their golden calf will wag a PW Botha-esque finger at Ramaphosa, while, over on the so-called left, Gwede Mantashe told a Freedom Day crowd that South Africa is “not a province of the United States” and that its “sovereignty will be defended”, presumably a nudge in Ramaphosa’s direction.
Admittedly, Mantashe makes a solid point: if South Africa were a province of the US we’d all be almost as rich as he is, and since we’re not, we must assume that we are not, in fact, an American province.
I’m not sure, however, what Mantashe knows about South Africa’s sovereignty given that he hasn’t lived here since he emigrated to the Person’s Republic of Gwedestan some years ago, to live as the president and sole citizen of a tiny gilded bubble that is entirely immune to things like economic downturns, election results or, indeed, consequences for one’s actions.
For his part, Ramaphosa could teach Trump some wonderful tricks, like how to keep your entire cabal out of jail for years without even having to go to the trouble of handing out presidential pardons.
But I digress. The point is that I think that, far from being a disaster, the Ramaphosa-Trump summit has the potential to be the bigliest success any of us could wish for, especially if the two men realise how much they have in common.
Both, for example, regularly experience the same heady blend of panic and exhilaration whenever Vladimir Putin calls them to check how the plan is coming along and to deliver another lecture on Russia’s rightful place in Eastern Europe, namely, all over it.
Then there is also the natural affinity created by having lots and lots of money. Of course, Ramaphosa is not nearly as rich as Trump — his entire fortune of $450m is less than what Trump still owes New York after being found guilty of fraud, to say nothing of the $83m he owes E. Jean Carrol for defaming her after he sexually abused her — but still, both will share the unspoken agreement of the very rich that they need to be civil to each other in case they end up as two of the final ten people in Zuckerberg’s New Zealand apocalypse bunker and straws are being drawn to decide who will eat whom first.
Beyond these similarities, there is also the chance that both Ramaphosa and Trump will discover that they have lots to learn from each other.
For his part, Ramaphosa could teach Trump some wonderful tricks, like how to keep your entire cabal out of jail for years without even having to go to the trouble of handing out presidential pardons. Insurrectionists? Even easier: just do nothing until everyone forgets all about it.
As for Trump, well, he can introduce Ramaphosa to his latest breakthrough, rolled out over the weekend by treasury boss Scott Bessent: explaining wildly erratic behaviour as “strategic uncertainty”. It’s not chaos: it’s a cunning plan, my lord!
Yes, let’s not look for problems before they arise. Instead, let us believe that the better angels of both men’s natures will prevail, and that, when the meeting ends, Ramaphosa remembers it as the most congenial four-and-a-half minutes he’s had since that morning’s footbath in nightingale albumen, while Trump smiles to himself and admits that he sure did underestimate that little premier of South Nambia or whoever the hell that guy was.
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