In a prescient reflection, a former colleague drew a parallel between Malaysia and SA, two nations once poised at similar crossroads of history. Malaysia, in 1994, faced deep ethnic inequalities and a colonial legacy, much like our own. Unlike SA, Malaysia made pivotal choices that reshaped its trajectory.
“We could have been Malaysia,” he laments. “We had the potential. We just didn’t use it…. The good news,” he argues, “is that it’s not too late.”
However, the stark reality is SA’s political landscape remains entrenched in systemic corruption, in which patronage politics overshadow governance. The ANC, once a beacon of hope, now navigates a labyrinth of factionalism and cronyism, preserving power through alliances rather than progress. The elites it created need feeding, lest voter support dwindles even further. But the ANC is bound to split over time into two camps, with the combined MK faction probably destined to be bigger than the Ramaphosa camp.
Meanwhile, the DA, amid internal turmoil, struggles to unite under a clear vision, torn between political perks and dwindling liberal ideals. Bedazzled, in part, by the blue lights of power and, I daresay, pecuniary promises, some will throw their weight behind Ramaphosa, while a disaffected “liberal rump” tries to hang on to what is left — high priests preaching to a shrinking congregation. How this schism will play out for an emergent black DA voice or another unifying constituency is unclear.
Purse permitting, a more delivery-orientated coalition will emerge — underpinned by hybrid neoliberal policies and developmental rhetoric. The posters will reflect a reformed polity delivering economic growth for all, but cosmetic applications apart, the reality will be different — no priming of the pump for bottom-up stimulation, just more hoarding at the top.
But as we envision this future, one cannot ignore the brewing storm of discontent among marginalised communities.
Will they settle for pie-in-the-sky promises? Will they demand tangible change amid growing disillusionment? Or will they be wooed by MK and the EFF, which are bound to hold sway with a combined appeal to the lumpen rural vote, disaffected urban migrants and a gullible youth susceptible to a heady mix of nationalism and faux socialism. They may well wrest control over time, forging alliances on a transactional basis.
Within this changing scenario, there is bound to be a gap for the emergence of a small “real” left — its problem will be the paucity of supporting union structures, a dwindling old guard, a reserve army of the unemployed prepared to work for very low wages, poorly educated youth, and the end of a “vanguard” role. It is a path fraught with challenges of mobilisation and relevance.
In this narrative, the trajectory of poor South American countries bedevilled by a resource curse comes to mind, in which political elites vie for power while minorities and mobile middle cases migrate as corrupt management ushers in economic collapse.
As I contemplate the future my children will inherit, I am reminded that while hope springs eternal, realism demands vigilance. SA stands at a crossroads not unlike Malaysia’s past, but our journey forward will be uniquely our own.
Thirty years after the demise of apartheid, everyone — in the words of Seamus Heaney — wishes for hope and history to rhyme, but it would do to remember that the Ireland Heaney so cherished was, in the 20th century, a contrast of hope and despair. It has taken about 100 years for Ireland to shake off the despair and deliver on hope. In the scheme of time, 30 years after apartheid reflects the beginning of grappling with adulthood — there is a fair way to go.
• Cachalia is a former DA MP and public enterprises spokesperson.
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