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Daily Maverick
4 days ago
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: Mzwanele Manyi has redefined the term ‘political reinvention'
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! My leader, seeing as your inbox is undoubtedly groaning under the weight of diplomatic communiqués and full-course buffets since your sho't left for the United States of Amerikaners, I fully understand why my humble email slipped through the cracks. I sent you my updated profile — certainly not for the coveted US ambassadorship, where one dines with senators and flirts with the threat of sanctions. It was for a modest writing or editing gig to keep the home fires burning. And I do mean that quite literally and figuratively — the price of firewood, gas, and electricity in Mzansi is no joke. Former by design, not disgrace In the aforementioned profile, penned with all the dignity of a man whose LinkedIn boasts more chapters than the Bible, I stated — with solemn pride — that I am a former leader of the African National Congress (ANC); a former deputy chairperson of the South African Students' Congress (Sasco); and a former Student Representative Council (SRC) president at Technikon Natal (Durban University of Technology). I am also a former Public Relations Officer of the South African Technikon Students Union (Satsu) and a former Political Education Officer of the South African Students' Press Union (Saspu) — back when 'press' meant journalism, not anti-social media. I was even a former council member of said Technikon, although whether that came with a stipend or merely a chicken feet lunch remains a mystery. Professionally, I am formerly Director of Media and Public Relations at the KwaZulu-Natal Department of Transport, Community Safety and Liaison; formerly attached to the KwaZulu-Natal Department of Education; and formerly in national service at the Department of Basic Education, where I fought valiantly against broken grammar and ministerial misquotes. As you can see, my formerlies are not just bona fide — they qualify as a full-blown curriculum vitae. To crown it all, I proudly hold what may well be an unbreakable national record — I am a former student of not one, not two, but three universities. A proper academic polygamist, if you will. I am also a former fan of all things Zumaaaaaa, back when his dance moves still thrilled the comrades and his speeches weren't riddled with 'nine-point plans' that led us nowhere slowly. Now, Comrade Leadership, I must confess that nothing warms my heart more than being a former lover of my firstborn son's mother, who has since risen phoenix-like to become an admitted attorney of the high court. I am also, quite perplexingly, a former son to my late, unlikeable father — which surely deserves a constitutional review or at least a footnote in our next National General Council documents. Yet, through all these exits, not once have I left under a cloud — no dishonourable discharge. As the British say, I've always known when to take my leave before the tea turned cold — and certainly, before the comrades started stirring the sugar of suspicion. I wasn't shown the door by the party, the home, or even the communal WhatsApp group where gossip goes to find its second wind. And yes, I was once an optimist about this democracy of ours, which in ANC circles is still referred to as a 'Democratic Breakthrough'. These days, with the movement having suffered a defeat at the polls and reduced to sharing Cabinet seats with the Opposition, comrades now refer to our electoral humiliation as the 'Strategic Setback of 2024'. That, my leader, is the ANC for you — consistently applying revolutionary grammar to electoral trauma. But I digress. Isn't Jimmy or Mzwanele… As I paced in my lounge like a contemplative Marxist revolutionary considering my next audacious career move in the absence of your reply, my leader, enter, stage left: Mzwanele Manyi, formerly known as Jimmy, the ever-(dis)honourable member of many things. Yes, him. The guy known for his vile comment: 'This over-concentration of coloureds in the Western Cape is not working for them.' The same individual who once utilised the Department of Labour and Government Communication and Information System (GCIS) as his megaphone and later commandeered ANN7 as if it were the SABC of Saxonwold. Now? He has been formally and formerly dismissed as the uMkhonto Wesizwe (MK) party's chief whip. My leader, I am convinced that Mr Manyi holds the Guinness World Record for the most 'formerlies' one man can attach to a single CV — a veritable collector of ex-titles. Former ANC apparatchik. Former Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) fighter. A former missionary with the African Transformation Movement (ATM). Former lay preacher at the Bantu Church of Christ and former government spokesperson. The former media mogul — a generous stretch. The former founder of the Decolonisation Foundation, which was more of a WhatsApp group than a movement. Former spokesperson of the JG Zuma Foundation — a one-person, one-fax-machine operation. He's reinvented himself more times than the Johannesburg City Council has had mayors and Eskom has had CEOs — and that's no small feat. From the carpeted hallways of the Union Buildings to the propaganda booths of Gupta TV, to now tiptoeing out of the corridors previously reserved for Zuma's most loyal lieutenants, Manyi has marched them all. With a microphone in one hand, a recycled manifesto in the other, and a press release tucked into the inside pocket of his camouflage blazer. This week, when confronted by journalists about his sudden dethroning, the former chief whip declared, without flinching: 'It's not a shame.' Of course, it's not. My leader, shame has long since been voted out of the House — alongside accountability and humble pie. In today's politics, being 'former' isn't a phase — it's a full-blown lifestyle. A calling. A brand strategy designed at Harvard. It doesn't end there! 'Formerlies-R-Us' My leader, if political reinvention were an Olympic sport, Jimmy Mzwanele Manyi would have clinched gold in both the solo and relay events. But long before he paraded on red carpets, donned berets, and wore green fatigues, he strode the corridors of White Monopoly Capital like a man who had once read Rich Dad Poor Dad as if it were scripture. Let's begin with the boardroom ballet. Manyi, formerly of Anglo-American, served a decade in the heart of the mining industry — not as a unionist, mind you, but as a mining and exploration geologist (without formal qualifications in the field). You must respect the sheer grit and stamina of Jimmy for being never knowingly underemployed. He is also a former president of the Black Management Forum (BMF), where he led transformation debates with the vigour of a man who believed BEE stood for 'Bold Executive Elevation'. Formerly employed, formidably titled Then came Toyota South Africa, where he served as general manager — steering corporate strategy, presumably without a reverse gear. If those Toyotas could talk, they'd say: 'Mr Manyi's leadership had fewer breakdowns than Eskom.' At Barclays PLC he held a top-level executive position, overseeing Business Banking, Development, Black Economic Empowerment, and Government Relations — a rare four-in-one combination akin to buying a car with Bluetooth, a sunroof, and a prayer included. After government, Jimmy, or was it Mzwanele, founded Afrotone, his investment firm. Whether it generated rands, cents, sense, or simply headlines is beside the point. Then came the media ownership — The New Age and ANN7, acquired from the Gupta family. He ran both with the enthusiasm of a teenager handed the remote for the first time. Objectivity? Let's say Jimmy redefined it in his own image. As for education, he holds a Higher Diploma in a field that even the internet doesn't know. He is degreeless, an omission that cost him the director-general post at Mineral Resources. But, my leader, when you're Jimmy, even CV gaps read like bullet points of legend. Reload, don't resign Just for the record, neither Jimmy nor Mzwanele is fazed by the latest development, which makes him look like a crosstitute. This makes sense because being 'former' is no longer a setback — it's a brand. With the bluster of Donald Trump and the cryptic tone of an Elon Musk tweet orbiting the Union Buildings, he said: 'I will rise, as always.' Yes, he will; he's been a former 26 times by conservative estimates. Till next week, my man — send me to the original Jimmy Manyi without titles. DM
Daily Maverick
23-05-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: This wasn't just a diplomatic win, it was a geopolitical masterclass
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! I wish I were a fly on the wall watching you, son of Soweto, hailing from the shithole known as South Africa, coming face to face with the former US Landlord-in-Chief turned 47th US President, Donald 'Mr Tariffs' Trump. Novice political pundits billed the match as the grand finale with a predetermined outcome: President Trump would pull a Zelensky on you. For the uninitiated in geopolitics, President Trump, on live television, belittled, demeaned, derided, humiliated, mocked, scolded, embarrassed, ridiculed, chastised and undermined Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky. The UK Guardian called the incident 'one of the greatest diplomatic disasters in modern history'. But for me, this was always gonna be the Ramaphosa show, the master negotiator who outsmarted, outwitted, outflanked, and outmanoeuvred the then-National Party chief negotiator, Roelf Meyer. With convenient amnesia, some forget how you, my leader, took the mining industry to the cleaners. In 1987, as the founding General Secretary of the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), you led the largest and longest strike in South African mining history involving more than 300,000 workers that halted production in the gold and coal sectors. You, Matamela, taught Big Capital and the apartheid apparatus crucial lessons: their wealth was built on black labour, the same people they treated as second-class citizens. The mining industry lost more than $100-million in pretax profits due to the strike. You emerged as a shrewd, deft, and masterful negotiator. Fast forward to just under a year ago: you were at it again, cobbling together an 11-party Government of National Unity in just 12 days. You outfoxed, outplayed, outmanoeuvred and politically outclassed the Democratic Alliance's Helen Zille. Pre-qualifier So, the Trump opener wasn't a grand finale but a pre-qualifier for the real tournament: the Presidential World Cup Games, to be played over four gruelling seasons of the Trump Administration. To win the opening round, you fielded what many dismissed as fringe players, yet they emerged as polished performers with transactional flair to match Trump's own. Your Trump card? A midfield commanded by Johann Rupert, the Richemont and Remgro boss, carrying the business brief with quiet authority and a rapport with the American skipper. Up front, Ernie Els and Retief Goosen provided finesse, not with a ball but a golf club, exploiting Trump's notorious soft spot for the green. On the flank, DA leader John Steenhuisen — now Minister of Agriculture — brought his boots to the food security pitch, no stranger to the political dungeon. Across the halfway line, the US bench featured hopefuls from the lower leagues — fresh boots, shiny kits, light on caps. Only Trump had prior appearances in the World Cup of Power, now returning with a point to prove — and a red cap in hand. Vice-President JD Vance, the midfield orchestrator, brought populist grit and vision, aiming to control the tempo of foreign policy and trade. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, the centre-back, focused on security and defence, embodying the 'peace through strength' mantra. Secretary of Commerce Howard Lutnick, the dynamic winger, drove trade negotiations with Wall Street precision. Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau, the seasoned right-back, ensured smooth diplomatic transitions, drawing on ambassadorial experience. Together, this ensemble moved to navigate the geopolitical pitch with precision, each player bringing their skills to Trump's evolving but chaotic strategy. Halftime report: the Trump-Ramaphosa derby The match was deadlocked at the break — a tense 0-0, though political tackles flew. The sticking point? A contentious VAR (Video Assistant Referee) review involving 49 Afrikaner 'refugees' seeking asylum in the US, with Trump's camp pushing the tired 'white genocide' narrative. But, in classic Cyril Ramaphosa fashion — calm under pressure — you scored against the run of play. Early in the second half, the breakthrough came via Johann Rupert — the seasoned centre-back with commercial pedigree — who volleyed one home by affirming his Afrikaner heritage and the uncomfortable truth of his wealth's origins. A goal was made in Stellenbosch, and it was finished in Washington. He reminded all that the Constitution — drafted and defended under the African National Congress (ANC) — now guards both his wealth and white minority rights and that referees on this pitch include not only the ANC but also the DA and Freedom Front Plus (FF+), who double as strikers and linesmen when the political ball demands creative positioning. Trump's team looked rattled — their midfield lost structure, their narrative crumbling. VAR ruled: Afrikaners are free to migrate, and the US may extend courtesies as it pleases, but South Africa remains a sovereign trading partner — now with a fresh bilateral deal in the making: a clean strike, bottom corner. The deal? Open lanes to US markets in exchange for uninterrupted flows of South Africa's prized minerals. That's when the real substitutions came in. Comrade Leadership, you emptied the bench and brought in the big guns — tactical switches that flipped the momentum. Second-half line-up: Team Mineral XI Platinum donned the armband — the undisputed number 10 — controlling 90% of global reserves and 91% of output; it controlled the midfield, powering hydrogen fuel cells, electronics, and cars like a seasoned playmaker. Palladium pressed high up the pitch, commanding 35% of global supply, breaking up emissions and fuelling catalytic converters. Rhodium, the pacey winger with 80% of the worldwide share, tore down the flanks, running the hydrogen line and emission controls. Manganese held the centre with 80% of reserves under South African boots, anchoring steel production and battery technology. Chromium kept the backline firm, the steel spine of the squad, commanding 72% of the world reserves. Vanadium (third largest producer behind Russia and China) sat deep, low key yet vital, threading passes into energy storage and steel alloys. Titanium, the left-back, strong and nimble, surged forward from the aerospace and machinery wings. And guarding the posts, Zirconium, calm and steady, shielding the nuclear core in ceramic gloves. According to the United States Geological Survey (USGS), all these minerals are on Washington's Critical Minerals List — essential for maintaining US economic and national security dominance in the 21st century. With the second-half performance powered by mineral muscle, the match tilted irreversibly in favour of Team Ramaphosa. The decisive play? A blistering counter-attack powered by South Africa's deep bench of critical minerals, each one a Champions League regular in global supply chains. The new bilateral deal in the making was the match-winner. And just like that, South Africa was back in the global power league — not just as a player, but as the one holding the golden boot, leading the stats table for strategic relevance. With you, Matamela, pulling the strings from behind the midfield, this wasn't just a diplomatic win but a geopolitical masterclass. While the main pitch in Washington hosted the Trump-Ramaphosa showdown, the Israel-Palestine fixture was relegated to a warm-up match — a frustrating 3-a-side clash with no referees and too many own goals. Ramaphosa, speaking from the mixed zone, called for a reset — not just of peace talks but the entire fixture list. His suggestion? A rotating neutral venue, a ceasefire by penalty shootout, and a truth commission as post-match analysis. Coin toss Meanwhile, both sides refused to leave the tunnel in the Ukraine-Russia derby, still arguing over the coin toss. But here's the kicker: South Africa offered to co-captain a new peace formation alongside the United States — an unlikely 4-4-2 of diplomacy, trade, mediation, and minerals. With BRICS+ strikers restless on the bench and Nato defenders overcommitted to high lines, the Ramaphosa proposal to reset the game plan was met with cautious applause from the gallery. You, President Cyril Ramaphosa, calm, clinical, and quietly ruthless, played the long game like a pro. You danced through the chaos in titanium boots. The Presidential World Cup Games move into the knockout stage, with Ramaphosa Men set to meet Team Brussels, Beijing, and possibly Team Moscow. But with platinum reserves as your midfield and a manganese-titanium spine, you're heading into the next match with confidence and composure. My leader, you didn't just win a match, you rewrote the fixtures, watered the pitch, and sent the fans home dreaming of a new world order — where South Africa wins not by chance but by calculation. If our courts, not the US Court of Political Opinion, decide, we will keep the equity and expropriation laws with minor tweaks. Till next week, my man — send me to the next derby, and a front row seat will do. DM
Daily Maverick
15-05-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: Yes, bad things are happening in South Africa
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! I wish there were another way to narrate this grim tale, but the recent exodus of my compatriots to the so-called Land of Milk and Honey has jolted me into righteous unease. This week, a group of 49 white South Africans — Afrikaners by identity — made their great trek to a faraway land, granted refugee status by the United States for alleged racial persecution here at home. Yes, you heard that right. Outside the glare of the mainstream, white-owned media, a narrative of white genocide in Mzansi is being whispered in corridors, polished in think tanks, and paraded as gospel. It is spoken of in hushed tones, my leader. No one counts the white bodies, they say, because the 'bloody communist government of the ANC' is always watching. I was triggered by seeing them waving American flags and grinning like Lotto winners. That old nightmare returned: forced removals, police boots breaking down doors, black bodies contorted on cold floors, bleeding dreams deferred, and 'left stinking like rotten meat'. Yet for some, their dream caught a first-class flight to the US. Ours — indigenous people — never left the townships, informal settlements, and villages where dreams rot. My leader, my unlikeable late father, a factory-floor philosopher of note, warned me sternly in early '94: 'Don't you dare vote for the convict — Nelson Mandela.' He was dead serious. He believed democracy would end civilisation as he knew it. He assured me, with the conviction of a man raised on Huisgenoot and boerewors theology, that the white man was very clever. 'No black man,' he intoned, 'can run a country.' His tormented soul, I now realise, was weighed down by the sheer heft of indoctrination. He swam in the bloodied waters of racial myths, justifying white wealth as destiny rather than design. White affluence If it is still believed, history tells us white affluence did not fall from the sky like manna. It was chiselled from black backs, broken in the gold, coal, and asbestos mines. Our forebears, armed only with aching limbs and dignity, earned peanuts underground. Many suffocated in silence. Others died coughing up their last wages in blood — compensation paid only to their widows, in crocodile tears and zinc coffins. But the myth persisted. White people worked hard, while black people loafed in the sun. The factory-floor philosopher believed that, too. I refused to buy it, and he never forgave me. My leader, since 1652, we've been pawns in a colonial chess game where the rules are rigged and the referee is an accomplice. The mines didn't just swallow lungs and lives — they harvested black dreams, crushed between shifts and shafts, while shareholders drank whisky in New York City, London, and Sandton and paid their housekeepers in leftover rice and expired mayonnaise. Their offshore bank accounts in Zurich overflowed with money stolen from the dreams, sweat, blood, and tears of black men. Men who were herded into inhumane mining compounds — concrete coffins of misery — far from their ancestral lands, their wives, livestock, and dignity. They were uprooted, stripped of language and land, and made to toil in shafts that reeked of dynamite and despair. The white masters remained above ground, sipping Scotch in crystal tumblers, while below, black lungs filled with dust, not air. Men became numbers. Families became remittance slips. City life? Not for them. It required a passbook — an instrument of state surveillance stamped with contempt. You needed a permit to breathe in white areas. A permit to walk. A permit to work. A permit to live. And God forbid you fancied a taste of the white man's liquor. You either needed a 'coloured' surname or had to renounce your very bloodline for a shot of Scotch. Stripped of choice and dignity Our grandfathers, stripped of choice and dignity, were herded into state-sanctioned beer halls where they were force-fed sorghum beer, not brewed in communal celebration but churned out by white monopolies turning a profit on sorrow. A grotesque corruption of umqombothi, that sacred Zulu elixir once poured to honour ancestors, welcome newborns, and celebrate the harvest. Even our serenity was stolen — the right to hear birdsong without surveillance, to wade in the river without suspicion, to watch mountains in stillness without fear of displacement. It was the freedom to laugh, dance, sit beneath a tree, and hear the soft, jubilant racket of children at play, lost forever. I know, leadership. This letter may read like the ramblings of a scatterbrain. I've already eaten my figures, but worry not — I'm seeing my psychologist soon. Where was I? Nonetheless, I am a big fan of the post-apartheid dispensation, warts and all. I conceived this Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu as a small national service, a weekly liturgy of loyalty and scrutiny. Since 2018, I've written with the faith of a Zion Christian Church pilgrim on the dusty road to Moria. At the height of this column's notoriety, there were watering holes where I was persona non grata. I would enter and feel the chill, not from the aircon, but from cadres who had read my latest piece. In other taverns, I held court like a township Plato. I sat on upturned crates, decoding your utterances with the precision of a sangoma interpreting bones and Budget speeches. There, I played political oracle for a captured audience, most in various states of intoxication, offering analysis between sips of Windhoek Lager. Still, I scribbled on, fuelled by the belief that South Africa would find its promised rhythm somewhere in all this mess. Sadly — and I know this may sound like it's coming out of the blue — but the 47th president of the United States, Donald 'Mr Tariffs' Trump, has a point: ' Bad things are happening in South Africa.' It's just that he got the victims mixed up. The tragic truth, my leader, is that terrible things are indeed happening — not only to the 49. But to the millions of South Africans who have no offshore accounts, no white tears to weaponise, and certainly no 'special visa' to Texas. Born on the wrong side of the veld They are black. They are born on the wrong side of the veld. They don't sit at the table of the productive economy. They are hired to mop the floors of white households — over 90% of South Africa's 861,000 domestic workers are black women. They're not in boardrooms either. Only 47% of board members are black. Meanwhile, white South Africans hold 65.9% of top management posts. Black South Africans? Just 13.8%. At the lower end, 82.8% of workers are black. No 100 black-owned companies can be found or listed on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange. Instead, blacks push trolleys full of recyclable shame, part of the 60,000 to 90,000 informal waste pickers who trudge our pavements. Most lucky to be employed are security guards, 2.7 million of them, the majority black, car, business and school guards, guarding a white future they'll never be invited to live in or taste. The most tragic of all is that 40,000 Afrikaners own half of South Africa; let it sink in. Yet, the DA resists anything that tinkers with unearned white privilege. How do we confront the grotesque income disparities — the top 20% of the population (white people) hold over 68% of income? The bottom 40% of the population holds 7% of the income, which has become the very architecture of our democracy. Some among us, conveniently cloaked in foreign passports, flee to America the moment we threaten their comfort with redistributive policies — be it the Employment Equity Amendment Act, the Basic Education Laws Amendment Bill, the Expropriation Act, or the once-intact Citizenship Act that barred dual nationality. Imagine a South African-turned-American refugee still voting back home. We now have super citizens — voting in South Africa, America, and Australia — mocking one person, one vote. This, dear reader, is a cocktail of apartheid's lingering legacy and the ineptitude of our governors and present-day mandarins — those promoted beyond their intellectual stations by a system that mistakes loyalty for competence. Indulge me, if you will: Where is this democratic government meant to find the money to buy back stolen land and redistribute it to the 80% of our people squeezed into informal settlements, 4,297 of them nationwide, accommodating more than two million households, in township ghettos, and forgotten rural villages? Till next week, my man — send me to the US for tea with Uncle Sam. DM
Daily Maverick
09-05-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu — the oracle has delivered four post-Cyril scenarios
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! My leader, I survived a tsunami this week. Finding a small, trembling window to reach the mainland took half my sleeping time. It was the most disturbing dream I have had so far in 2025. A cruel messenger of subconscious fears, it reminded me of the political apocalypse that engulfed the 'leader of society', the African National Congress (ANC), on 29 May 2024. For me, emerging unscathed from a tsunami in the dreamworld signals an imminent breakthrough. Yet, in the treacherous world of South African politics, it whispers something darker: survival will only come through rebirth – a far more advanced stage in political survival than the tired mantra of 'renewal' so lazily mouthed by comrades from podiums and WhatsApp groups alike. You see, my leader, fictional renewal is easy. It only requires slogans, Instagram-ready images and conference resolutions that gather dust before the ink dries. Real rebirth? That is different. It is messy, bloody and humbling. It is about scraping the rot from the marrow, reconnecting not with conference delegates and caterers but with street committees, stokvels, minibus taxi ranks, informal traders and, yes, the tired grandmothers queuing for social grants. Without this brutal honesty, the ANC faces oblivion, not mere opposition. My dream, strange as it was, is your warning. My late, unlikeable father once barked at my younger sister: 'Take it or leave. If you take the leave it, ku-worse (sic).' But let us consult the oracle of real-world data. Poll after poll – whether from the Social Research Foundation (SRF) report titled ' South Africa's Political State of Play ' (February 2025), or the South African Institute of Race Relations (IRR) one, ' The Political State of Play ', of April 2025 – sings the same dirge: the ANC is unmistakably on a downward spiral. The 2024 election confirmed it: 40.18% of the national vote. In essence, the ANC lost 5,191,065 votes between 2009 and 2024. Clearly, the centre is no longer holding. The SRF's study, based on a demographically representative survey of 1,004 registered voters with a margin of error of 4%, revealed a critical shift. Many within the ANC's traditional support base (on top of the missing five million already) have drifted into the category of 'free agents'. Disillusioned and uncertain, they are no longer anchored to the once-mighty liberation movement. Further confirmation came when the IRR's national poll, conducted among 807 registered voters, delivered a political shockwave. The DA edged ahead nationally for the first time in IRR polling history, scoring 30.3% support, while the ANC languished at 29.7%. This decline sharpened amid growing anger at ANC government performance, from sewage spills, to water shortages and land hunger. Opportunistically or strategically, the DA opposes everything the ANC does in the GNU era through the courts. Polls show support for the party among black South Africans surged from 5.4% in 2024 to 18% in April 2025 – a bitter pill for Luthuli House. Thus, the oracle offers you four post-Cyril scenarios. Each dark. Each plausible. Scenario One: DA-led 3rd GNU and the spectre of legitimacy The first path, painted boldly by SRF and IRR polling, leads us to an historic yet volatile moment – a DA-led national government emerging from the ruins of ANC hegemony. The maths now makes this plausible. With the ANC's urban strongholds crumbling and its middle-class vote deserting, the DA – armed with only 30% of the national vote and shrewd coalition arithmetic – could form a government. In a cruel twist of irony, the ANC would become a junior partner in a house it once owned. Enter stage right: possibly Geordin Hill-Lewis, the Cape Town mayor with a clean audit and a dazzling smile. A white president, my leader. Yes, in name and hue. While the Constitution allows it, society may not. Hill-Lewis, or someone like him, would inherit a divided land where the National Question – unresolved and raw – simmers beneath service delivery protests, shack fires and whispered discontent. His government would be legal, yes, but legitimate? Not in the townships or rural heartlands. Not in the eyes of those still knocking at the doors of economic power. His presidency would be haunted by whispers of betrayal – a government by arithmetic, not by heart. Scenario Two: ANC phoenix, reborn in exile from the DA The second path is no less dramatic. Enter Paul Mashatile, the seasoned survivor, chess player and deputy president who knows the art of political theatrics. Polls suggest that even a humbled ANC scraping together 30% of the vote in 2029 could stitch together what I call the 'New ANC' – an uneasy but potent alliance of splinter groups and leftist forces, united by one doctrine: Never DA. Imagine, if you will, the ANC, uMkhonto Wesizwe (MK) party, Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), United Democratic Movement (UDM) and Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) locking arms in ideological discomfort but political necessity. Mashatile, catapulted to the presidency not by an overwhelming mandate but by wounded egos, would face a poisoned chalice: unite fractured liberation movements, govern ethically (for once) and deliver transformation. It's a big ask, my leader. Populists, nationalists and working-class rage do not always hold hands in harmony. Markets, those unforgiving judges, would panic. The rand would tumble. The JSE would reel. Bond yields would spike. This government, burdened by ideological contradictions, would be unstable. Yet, for many, this reborn ANC would at least feel like home. To them, governance without the ANC is governance without representation. Beware, my leader: unrest would no longer be theoretical. Scenario Three: DA-led GNU excludes ANC – a nation unmoored Now, my leader, allow me to play the oracle again and paint a chilling vision. Imagine a dawn where the DA, emboldened by steady electoral gains and embittered by ideological disdain, forms a third GNU that deliberately excludes the ANC. Constitutionally sound? Yes. Politically seismic? Absolutely. The ANC, long regarded as the liberator and custodian of democratic South Africa, finds itself banished. The ramifications would not wait for the historians. Protests would erupt in forgotten townships and rural enclaves where the ANC's absence from power would be felt as a betrayal of the liberation promise. The presence of a white president – a plausible outcome – would fuel the fire. For many, especially among older generations, this would be perceived not as a new dawn but as a regression to pre-1994 politics. Old wounds would reopen. This would not be the third GNU, but revenge wrapped in legalese for some. Scenario Four: the outlier – MK storms to 35% Ah, my leader, history does not whisper. Sometimes it roars. In this case, it hollered through the ballot box. The MK party – dismissed by analysts as a glorified WhatsApp group – has rewritten the rules. At 35%, it towers over the humbled ANC and a sulking DA, seizing not just power but the narrative itself. They are no longer insurgents. They are governors. And with victory, they summon the so-called 'progressive' forces to the big table: the EFF, African Transformation Movement (ATM) and United Africans Transformation (UAT). Other smaller left-leaning parties in fiery rhetoric, community-based movements and ideologically untethered independents, follow suit. The third GNU, my leader, is formed, but not in the mould of 1994's rainbow. This is the Bloc of the Betrayed, united not by shared values but by shared vengeance. Land, wealth and ownership – the holy trinity of historical grievance – are now official government business. Both the ANC and DA are excluded and cry themselves to sleep in Parliament. The markets recoil in horror. Overnight, the rand behaves like a novice skater on black ice. The JSE? A sea of red, the colour of ideological passion but also investor panic. Bond yields surge as global fund managers book urgent flights home. You see, my leader, the so-called progressive politics may win votes, but rarely soothes stockbrokers. The new third GNU wastes no time. Land expropriation without compensation is not debated, it is declared. State-owned enterprises, once cursed by the DA as bottomless pits, are hailed as engines of national pride and earmarked for expansion – efficiency be damned. Talks emerge of new sovereign wealth funds, funded not by surplus but by dreams.
Daily Maverick
02-05-2025
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: GNU
Ah, Chief Dwasaho! My leader, you who once walked with the Lord, preaching fire and brimstone at dusty crossroads across Mzansi, or so your biographer would have us believe, must surely recall the scripture, 'Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning' (Psalm 30:5). Let us not forget the post-election hustle. Between 2 June 2024, when the Electoral Commission of South Africa (IEC) announced the final results of the national and provincial elections, and 14 June 2024, when the National Assembly convened and reluctantly re-elected you as tenant-in-chief at Mahlamba Ndlopfu. And the joy? It did not cometh in the morning. It came, almost sheepishly, in the late afternoon of 14 June, wrapped in last-minute haggling and reluctant applause. It would take you, Comrade Leadership, 288 hours or 12 sleepless nights of backroom dealmaking, sharp elbows from Democratic Alliance (DA) don Helen Zille and frantic shuttling between boardrooms. All to cobble together a government stitched with chewing gum and faith but no clear mandate from the people – the 2nd Government of National Unity (GNU). Cynics may ask: what unity? Nine months into this much-fancied GNU, there has been no joy. Only the unrelenting weeping and gnashing of teeth for the 'leader of society', the African National Congress (ANC). Unity for whom Since you announced your all-inclusive Cabinet on 30 June 2024, it has been 306 days of looking at your back, 306 nights of weeping in silence, and 7,344 hours of watching this so-called voluntary GNU unravel like a poorly stitched funeral suit. Unlike the first GNU in 1994, helmed by President Nelson Mandela and anchored in the authority of a negotiated interim Constitution, yours was not born of a national imperative but of political expedience, a patched-together survival political strategy masquerading as unity. Unity for whom? The political upper class divided the cake among themselves. For the people? Not even crumbs – so far, No Value Added, I repeat. Yet, my leader, it must be said that you emerged from your office at the Union Buildings, perched atop Pretoria, like a boss to announce your new Cabinet, beaming from ear to ear. And once the announcement was made, oh boy, the markets did backflips. The bond market exhaled and the stock market jumped. Currency traders clicked 'buy.' Investors loosened their collars. Philanthropists, old colonisers and private sector economists clinked glasses. Even those who had never heard of South Africa – like that former American landlord-in-chief, Donald Trump, who once thought it a direction rather than a nation – briefly turned their heads. Take credit, my leader, for compounding the critics' narrative that Africa (shithole, side-eye Trump) is a continent incapable of stable democratic governance, especially when liberation movements lose their grip on power or, at the very least, their parliamentary majority. Yet, South Africa, even at 30 years of democracy, five years shy of leaving its virgin territory, defied expectations. Not a single shot was fired; the army remained in the barracks, and those betting on civil unrest lost their wagers and had to eat their words, humble pie and nails. Some bondholders, both local and foreign, rejoiced at your return. After all, when someone owes you, it's always comforting to see them loitering near the till – grinning and looking vaguely creditworthy. There's an old joke that when you have life cover worth millions, the news of your death reaches the financial markets before your family. Analysts described the new Cabinet as a 'business-friendly' outcome because it included the DA – a longtime friend of big business and Monopoly Capital, despite its lacklustre 20% electoral performance – and you retained Finance Minister Enoch Godongwana. Investors, bondholders, and currency traders even overlooked the appointment of Mzwanele Nyhontso, the Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) member now serving as minister of land reform and rural development. Conveniently, they developed collective amnesia regarding the PAC Struggle slogan: 'One settler, one bullet.' That bullet was dodged in favour of investor confidence and policy certainty. They also ignored Gayton McKenzie, the new minister of sport, arts and culture, a proud former gangster and bank robber with a flair for noise pollution and foot-in-mouth disease. The man is more obsessed with chasing undocumented foreigners than nurturing the next Akani Simbine, our 100m sprinting sensation who has consistently broken the sub-10-second barrier. Under his watchful eye, McKenzie's department sent someone to the Venezuela International Book Fair who had never penned even a letter to the editor. Apparently, she went as an aspiring author. Meanwhile, my three solo books and contributions to five more titles do not qualify me. But I digress. I am left pondering which is more disconcerting: the historical chant ' one settler, one bullet ' or the Afrikaner-manufactured controversy, led by AfriForum over the ANC's liberation-era slogan, ' kill the Boer, the farmer '. GNU to nowhere It has been 306 days today since the GNU Cabinet announcement and a two-minute honeymoon period fizzled out – and still, the GNU has offered: No Value Added. It's just noise and endless political theatrics. On 9 February 2025 – for the first time since 1994 – the Budget speech was shelved at the 11th hour. The second one presented on 12 March went the way of the dodo days later. Finance Minister Godongwana, wearer of many hats and mumbler-in-chief of the fiscus, now whispers of a third-time-lucky presentation on 21 May. These delays have spooked the markets. All this stop-start theatre is a political mechanisation by the DA to reset the 'coalition' agreement with the ANC and reposition themselves as the 'Messiah' of the poor. Hence, the manufactured urgency over the VAT Act's constitutionality, despite being in operation since 1991. They went gung-ho over the passing of the 2025 Budget's fiscal framework without their support and a modest 0.5 percentage point increase over two years to plug a R75-billion hole. For a party allegedly pro-business, its frivolous litigation, pyrrhic no VAT victory, and court-ordered Budget framework vote restart can hardly inspire investors' confidence. They don't have the numbers to go it alone. Now, if every decision (employment equity law being the latest casualty) made by the GNU Cabinet or prior administration is susceptible to litigation, that doesn't bode well for the markets, which are already rattled by Uncle Sam's mood swings. Furthermore, the blanket claim that VAT is inherently evil and hurts the poor most is cute, sure, but total poppycock. What really hurts the poor is not VAT. It's the cost of servicing government debt, mostly borrowed to feed a consumption machine, not build schools, hospitals or working rail lines. South Africa has a debt crisis, plain and simple. In 2025-26, 22% of total Budget expenditure will go to paying interest on past debt. In short, we've maxed out the national credit card. Growth is sluggish, and personal income tax (PIT) is tapped out, yet revenue must be raised. No VAT increase means a real austerity budget – not the cosmetic belt-tightening we've seen in the past decade. According to Professor Imraan Valodia from Wits University, VAT isn't 'regressive'; it's a consumption tax. It hits only income that is spent. If you're below the PIT threshold, VAT is how you contribute – fairly – to public goods. We already know the vast majority don't pay for government services, so VAT becomes the easiest and most efficient way to collect billions. Meanwhile, the middle class and the rich pay both PIT and VAT. And because they spend more, they pay more at the tills. That's not regressive. That's arithmetic. In April this year, I asked my leader: Will the GNU Cabinet adopt the snail's pace of Moses of biblical times, who led the Israelites out of slavery from Egypt to the Promised Land over 40 years, a journey that takes 10 to 15 days on foot? Or will it wander in a bureaucratic desert, each with its version of the Promised Land? And the answer? The GNU trajectory is clearly stuck in Biblical Moses's time by design, not omission. All of you have squandered 306 days, yet there is no Budget or economic policy, and you are just all wandering in a bureaucratic desert. Sadly, not even the much-fancied National Dialogue to craft a collective vision for SA Incorporated has materialised. Unfortunately for you, my leader, the weeping at night persists, but the morning glory is but a rumour.
