South Africa’s government may be broken but South African people are not.
Citizen
of Ekhuruleni at the clean-up campaign at Mayfield Mall on July 14, 2021 in
Daveyton, South Africa. (Photo: Gallo Images/OJ Koloti).
There are several
examples on the ground of ordinary folks reducing the damage caused by populist
stormtroopers.
A |
t the South African Human Rights Commission
(SAHRC) hearings on the attempted insurgency in July 2021, President Cyril
Ramaphosa admitted who was responsible for containing the catastrophic
bloodshed and cleaning it up afterwards.
"It was the people of South Africa who
worked to restore calm and safeguard lives, property, and infrastructure in a
peaceful and legal manner."
On April 1, the President stated, "The
assault on our democracy failed because the people of South Africa will not
allow it."
The July attacks, which killed more
than 350 people and cost the economy R50 billion, happened after former
President Jacob Zuma was sentenced to prison for contempt of court.
Public threats made by Zuma's family,
followers, and acolytes on social media fueled the violence.
Ramaphosa's appreciation of the
crucial contribution of ordinary South Africans in thwarting a regional coup
attempt is significant.
The president admitted that the state
could not safeguard its citizens, and that the state could not even protect
them from elements within the ANC.
In Ramaphosa's description of the
murder and sabotage that week, there was no "big guy" hyperbole, only
a tint of grief in his stunning admission that the country had peered into
"the heart of darkness."
Those who "plotted to undermine
this very country we have spent the previous 28 years establishing" had
caused "the worst sense of betrayal," according to the President.
"Try as they may, they didn't
turn us against each other," he added. South Africans, on the other hand,
joined together like never before."
Ramaphosa's perspective symbolizes an
anemic residue of some distant ANC's scarcely beating heart, which embraced
diversity and was a "wide church" of contentious beliefs that
embraced the values of constitutionalism, restitution, and redistribution.
But greed, hyperbole, and paid spin
firms got in the way, and public employees let a global criminal syndicate tied
to Zuma steal billions of rands in public monies.
The redistribution took place
primarily among the wealthy.
On the ground, true South Africans
were left unprotected and shattered by a brutal epidemic mismanaged by a
crumbling and corrupt government, whose officials teamed up with their pals to
commit massive PPE-procurement money-laundering sprees.
Stealing from your people during a
pandemic is still a crime against humanity, in our opinion.
The Constitution's nuts and bolts were
put to the ultimate test during this period, as lawfare became a way of life
not only for the political elite, but also for civil society and the political
opposition, when Zuma wielded total power.
Zuma's followers claim that the Constitution
"stands in the way of majority liberation."
Finally, in 2017, two small
non-governmental organizations, Earth Life Africa and the Southern African
Faith Communities' Environment Institute, won a constitutional challenge to
Zuma and Russian President Vladimir Putin's secret R1-trillion nuclear energy
deal negotiated between the South African government and Rosatom, the Russian
state nuclear energy corporation.
The Stalingrad tactic is hobbling
along in courtrooms like a zombie.
Zuma, who is now out on a dubious
granted parole, and the Public Protector, Busisiwe Mkhwebane, who is currently
facing impeachment, are both employing the Stalingrad tactic, which is hobbling
along like a zombie haunter of courtrooms.
Ramaphosa's vision of citizens and our
response to the July violence fits well into the writer's definition of
"positive nationalism," as defined by Canadian writer and philosopher
John Ralston Saul.
In the United States, Russia, the
United Kingdom, and South Africa, nationalism has reared its ugly head,
wreaking havoc.
The "they" referred to by
Ramaphosa in his SAHRC statement, the perpetrators, agitators, and
bloodthirsty, are motivated by Saul's concept of "negative
nationalism."
This, according to Saul, is a
manifestation of a national identity or self-view based on ethnic allegiance,
which frequently includes appropriation of a god(s), a certain pride in
ignorance, and "a belief that one has been permanently injured, terribly
harmed."
This crude nationalism is exemplified by
Donald Trump and the Proud Boys, as well as the increase of xenophobic,
Islamophobic, and antisemitic sentiments in the United States, Europe, and
Africa.
In our own state, a region stares
vacantly into the past's graves eternally. Politics becomes archaeology in this
setting, and a complex future in a fast changing world seems unimaginable.
Positive nationalism, or civic
solidarity, on the other hand, is a state in which one sees the self in the
other and one's fate is connected together, according to Saul.
"A belief in the positive tension
of ambiguity and the primary role of choice," he defines positive
nationalism.
"Citizens feel at ease with this
complexity because they are anchored into a fundamental view of themselves and
others as part of a civic commitment" in such a state.
What has kept us together has been
South Africa's variety, its recent history, and the struggle for a democratic,
developmental state based on the Constitution.
On the ground in South Africa, there
are several examples of regular folks minimizing the damage caused by populist
stormtroopers.
Vegetables are grown and shared,
potholes are repaired (in some cases by kids), food is distributed by NGOs and
people, and money is collected to assist with funerals and school fees.
Some may have "sought to push for
violence and disorder along ethnic lines" at the onset of the July
"unrest," Ramaphosa admitted. We know that the vast majority of our
people have refused to be mobilized along these lines on moral grounds. "Tribalism
was rearing its ugly head in this occasion," the President added,
referring to a manifestation that the ANC's founders "sought to eliminate
from the South African political and social landscape."
A government collapse allows populist
parties like the EFF and individuals like Operation Dudula's Nhlanhla
"Lux" Dlamini to use grudges disguised as political ambitions or
philosophy to create an environment of perpetual danger of violence and
turmoil, all for personal/political benefit.
In July 2021, however, South Africans
rejected violence, instability, and populism.
Because of the poor results in the
November local elections, the EFF liquidated its structures in Limpopo, Julius
Malema's home province, in January of this year. That is also a significant
issue.
If we survive this age of
responsibility, there is still enough in our collective political DNA to get us
out of the hole that so many leaders have helped to build.
Ramaphosa was correct in singling us
citizens for our opposition to terrorism and sabotage.
For the time being, love him or hate
him and his party, Ramaphosa's voice has been a rare, steady one, cutting
through the churn of populist noise and bluster (given the instability and
criminality in the party he leads).
The good people who care about South Africa's
future must rely on the better angels of ordinary people. We absolutely can no
longer rely on our ruling party.
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