South Africa: not civil war but sad decay

14 October 2006

Rian Malan, acclaimed author of My Traitor’s Heart, says that the rise of Jacob Zuma as a serious presidential contender is a terrible symbol of his country’s inexorable decline into disorder, political corruption and maladministration

These developments confounded naive left-liberals, who had repeatedly assured us that Zuma was politically dead. Feminists recalled the dalliance with Ms Lewinsky that almost destroyed Bill Clinton. Aids activists were scandalised by Zuma’s failure to use a condom during the rape-case escapade, even though the woman involved was HIV-infected. Moralists contended that even though criminal charges had proved unsustainable, there were enough facts on the table to show that Zuma was sorely lacking in probity. For such people, it was unhinging to see Zuma become the leading contender for South Africa’s presidency, greeted at every turn by adoring supporters who informed reporters that the Ten Commandments were an alien invention that didn’t apply to African males. Their campaign song was even more unnerving: ‘Bring me my machine gun.’ A Serbian journalist living here took one look at this and wrote a piece headlined, ‘Time to Panic’.

Hmm. My friend Steve, a capitalist who golfs with the black elite, says this is nonsense. ‘Zuma is charming,’ he says. ‘If he actually gets the job, things will settle down and it’ll be business as usual.’ Maybe so, but the next general election is three years away, and meanwhile government is incapable of acting against the borers in our woodwork.

Let’s look at law enforcement, one smallish aspect of the growing problem. After years of slow decline, crime surged earlier this year, with insurance companies reporting a 20 per cent rise in claims. Some blamed a strike by security guards, who took to looting shops they had previously guarded and throwing scabs off trains. Others pointed the finger at feral refugees from Zimbabwe. ‘Capacity problems’ in the police were certainly a factor, too. In the middle of all this, a convoy of expensive cars carrying senior ANC dignitaries rolled up at a prison outside Cape Town. Uniformed warders swarmed out of the gates, and the gathering turned into a revolutionary song-and-dance extravaganza in honour of Tony Yengeni, a popular ex-MP about to start serving four years for fraud.