GARETH VAN ONSELEN: The three presidencies of Cyril Ramaphosa

President Cyril Ramaphosa cuts a series of curious contradictions: a unionist and a businessman, a capitalist who believes in state centralism, a president no less, and yet a man who describes the ANC secretary-general as his “boss” — many other political paradoxes besides.

Of them all, however, perhaps the most frustrating is the idea that he is a reformer and yet, on everything that matters — of which the economy is pre-eminent — he seems to have pledged himself to ANC fundamentals, the very source of the destruction wrought.

There is much muttering now that his presidency is not going to lead the reformation so many had hoped for. He seems more committed to good governance and fighting corruption than not, but, as ever, such things are what you would call “normality” in a healthy, constitutional democracy. They are hardly a litmus test for meaningful reform. Then again, they are all we have got, and so they are pretty much all everyone uses to gauge progress. 

The result is that Ramaphosa, who has long since held a reputation as a middle-of-the-road compromiser who relies on majoritarianism more than personal conviction, is experienced as both ambiguous and indistinct. He has no defining worldview, and certainly no grand vision. His is a piecemeal and entirely pragmatic presidency. Progress, such as it is, is incremental and his administration a one step forward, one step back kind of affair.

These three presidents are not some detached influence either. He was directly shaped by each of them in turn.

But there are grander forces at play, which appear to have exacted themselves on the president, and which have helped to define him as undefinable. The three previous mainstay ANC presidents — Nelson Mandela, Thabo Mbeki and Jacob Zuma — have all contributed in a way. Each of their particular personal brands have left a mark on Ramaphosa, as he seeks constantly to replicate that which was good (or helpful) in each case, and exorcise that which was bad (or unhelpful).

The consequence is a hybrid politician and president, without individual character or purpose. Cyril Ramaphosa is an amalgamation of the three presidents that preceded him. And also none of them.

What were those brands? Mandela was the great reconciler, who advocated nonracialism and peace but, in doing so, fuelled a contemporary anger for nonracialism. Mbeki was “Mr Delivery”, a philosopher king, who oversaw a hegemonic monolith and state with an iron fist, but who was seen as both out of touch with the people and contemptuous of those who disagreed with him. And there was Zuma, a demagogue and socialist, who rose to power on a wave of populist mania, but proceeded to transform the state into a patronage machine and to elevate corruption above delivery.

Mandela had a bottomless well of goodwill, at home and abroad, to draw upon. Mbeki had an unprecedented moral and political authority, to impose his will. Zuma had the mob, and the wild irrationality that defined it, to be able to ignore best practice and ethics with impunity. Ramaphosa has none of those.

Mandela’s mantle

Nevertheless, in the president we have a man who evokes Mandela’s mantle of great, nonracial reconciler, Mbeki’s brand as a delivery-orientated, economically focused technocrat and Zuma’s majoritarianism, as a compromiser and manager of the dangerous discontent and socialist sentiments that define so much of the ANC’s internal zeitgeist.

It is symptomatic of his chameleon-like character that he changes colours in this way, as and when necessary; and yet, without context, he has no colours of his own.

His problem is that he has inherited all their shortcomings too. And so he will evoke Mandela but berate “whites” as “lackadaisical”, as he is forced to play to the EFF. He will champion vision and modern delivery, through ideas like “the fourth industrial revolution”, but oversee electricity blackouts and universal basic financial mismanagement in almost every ANC-run municipality. And he will appoint a cabinet ostensibly “on merit” but committee chairs on “patronage”. 

These three presidents are not some detached influence either. He was directly shaped by each of them in turn. He was Mandela’s chosen successor, politically outmanoeuvred by Mbeki. He was in the wilderness under Mbeki, a political irrelevance, forced to befriend the private sector. And he was complicit in Jacob Zuma’s regime, suppressing whatever moral or ethical code he has, in order that he might rise to power. To become president he had to be ever-changing.

But, whatever their shortcomings, each at least stood for something. Good or bad, they were immovable. That hard line, benevolent or malevolent, meant they divided as much as they brought people together. That lesson has escaped Ramaphosa.

For every Mandela moment, there is an anti-Mandela moment. For every Mbeki economic promise, there is an EFF-like reality. And for every principled decision in the name of good governance, there is an omission, in the name of ANC appeasement. He is Mandela, Mbeki and Zuma, and he is also not — a political Frankenstein, who cannot act without trying to appease those his decisions alienate.

Ramaphosa is trying desperately to return to the age of Mandela, of the international statesman.

Foreign affairs is a helpful illustration of this kind of thing. 

Mandela was outward looking. He played on the international stage as much as the national one. Mbeki was inward looking: he narrowed the focus to Africa and, in large part, to those forces historically and currently loyal to the ANC. Zuma took that pattern to its ultimate conclusion. He was, for all intents and purposes, a domestic president — if not a regional president concerned mainly with KwaZulu-Natal — lacking both the wherewithal and interest to thrive in international politics. 

Ramaphosa is trying desperately to return to the age of Mandela, of the international statesman. He takes his wares to the market but, unlike Mandela, it is to beg, not to impart some moral obligation for aid or support. Because he takes Zuma with him, he is met not with goodwill, but scepticism and doubt.

As a result, he is reliant on what little was left of SA’s international reputation by the time Mbeki and Zuma were done — China and Russia and the rest of those recalcitrants that form the Eastern Block. There are no “new markets” for Ramaphosa, just old debts, and he has to pay them.

It is the same at home.

His fault or not, Ramaphosa wants land expropriation without compensation and property rights; he wants a more efficient state, but will not cut the public sector wage bill; he wants to make it easier to do business but will not meaningfully change the labour laws; he wants electricity but he also wants Eskom. He wants it all.

And, so far as sentiment goes, he wants to be nonracial but he also wants to put white South Africans in their place; he wants the reputation of an economic technocrat but also to implement the ANC’s economic agenda; and he wants good, clean governance but to carry the Zuma faction with him.

It is political schizophrenia writ large. Ultimately, he desperately wants unity. And that is what, to his mind, will bind together oil and water.

You wonder how long it can last. It is one thing trying to be all things to all people, but quite another to try to cater for your predecessor’s every strength and weakness. That is the thing about leadership: at its very best, it leaves in its wake discontent.

Unhappiness is the inevitable consequence of conviction. If you are a good leader, you can keep that to a minimum and carry the day. But if you believe no one must ever be unhappy, you will fail. 

It isn’t going to end well. You cannot function like this indefinitely. At some point you need to stand for something. You get the sense, however, that even if Ramaphosa wants to be, well, Ramaphosa, he cannot, because such a person doesn’t exist. 

Perhaps Ramaphosa is not to blame — we all seem to want what he wants: Mandela, Mbeki and even the common touch of Zuma (at least as it was perceived in his heyday). We have created the environment for convictionless politics. All must be happy, all the time.

At some point, SA will learn that progress necessitates disagreement, but not before this great age of majoritarianism has died. Until then, Ramaphosa is the perfect president — a leader who stands for everything and nothing.