On a contemplative drive through KwaZulu-Natal in May, I felt more connected and enamoured with SA than ever before. I concluded then that this country and its people will always be worth fighting for. Little did I know that the country that made me fall in love in May would break my heart in July. I return to these pages now to follow up on that piece. How, if at all, has my relationship with SA changed?
The dictionary definition of a nation is a large body of people united by common descent, history, culture or language, inhabiting a particular country or territory. In practice the experience of nationhood is the emotional relationship between individuals and the narratives that shape their understanding of the nation. These narratives are continuously changing, in big and small ways, and individuals adjust their relationship with their country at each iteration.
I remember EFF leader Julius Malema saying many years ago that, without radical change, poor people would rise up to take over the mansions of the rich and raid their fridges. I thought such a thing unlikely. Visuals of people in KwaZulu-Natal guarding their suburbs, fearing their homes would be looted, made me reassess my thinking. We have always understood that high levels of poverty and inequality make this country vulnerable to social unrest, but we thought we had time.
That changed as widespread social unrest moved from probable to certain. There is a difference between thinking something might happen and knowing it has and will happen. The events of July confirmed the death of the notion that you could expect sociopolitical stability in this country. This idea was in ICU for years, went onto life support after the Covid crisis commenced, and is now well and truly deceased.
When someone or some cherished idea dies there is a grieving process, and the country quickly commenced its five stages of grief. Thinking “this cannot be happening” as visuals of looting and burning flooded our screens was denial. Then rage: who can forget the visuals of the ANC’s provincial chair slapping a child live on national TV? Or the grotesque visuals of police burning food?
The bargaining started almost immediately. Support for the basic income grant, a policy that we could not afford to fund three years ago, let alone today, reached fever pitch in the weeks following the unrest. We hoped we could patch the social fabric with small cash transfers to poor people, and in this way squeeze the genie back into the bottle. This will not work. We are now vacillating between depression and acceptance. We need to confront the reality of SA and recontract with the country as it is, not as we wish it to be.
If you now accept, as I do, that sociopolitical instability is here to stay, what should you do? The smoldering conversation about physically and/or financially disinvesting is now an inferno, at least among my friends and peers. People with international mobility, across all races, are counting their points to secure immigration to Australia, the US, Canada and the Netherlands. At the very least, those who can will offshore their capital. The resultant loss of much-needed cash and the erosion of competitiveness and the tax base as high-income earners emigrate will cost us in growth and tax receipts in the years ahead.
That said, those who choose to stay are more energised than ever behind the idea of change. I see increased critical engagement with politics in my peer group as people are forced to imagine and work for a future that is materially different to the past. For those of us who choose to remain, we need to double down. This country and its people are, and will always be, worth fighting for.
• Lijane works in fixed-income sales and strategy at Absa Corporate & Investment Banking.
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