XHANTI PAYI | The diagnostic trap: why society is addicted to the problem and allergic to the cure

In psychology, the concept of fixation describes an obsessive focus or strong attachment to a person, idea or object, often stemming from unresolved childhood conflicts (in Freudian theory) or a mental rigidity that prevents new perspectives (in cognitive psychology).

Economists describe a closely related phenomenon known as path dependence — a reality where past events or choices lock a system into a specific trajectory, making it incredibly difficult to switch to better, more efficient alternatives later.

When reflecting on the ANC and its endless cycle of internal conferences, journalist Qaanitah Hunter captured this brilliantly in a headline: “The ANC: addicted to diagnosis, allergic to treatment.” It is a poetic indictment. Sadly, however, this pathology is not exclusive to the ANC. It is pervasive across our entire society, particularly within leadership discussions.

We frequently hear politicians, academics and corporate leaders describe our desperate poverty, rising inequality and the scourge of youth unemployment as “a time bomb waiting to explode”. But this phrasing betrays a profound cognitive dissonance.

Consider our daily reality: every day, young men murder their partners, grandmothers are raped and parents abuse their own children. We are hijacked on highways, at traffic lights, in taxis and on trains. The violence, death and suffering in our communities already rival those experienced in active war zones.

We have built an entire institutional economy around the articulation of the crisis. We host summits, draft frameworks, publish white papers and release hundred-page diagnostic reports. The analysis is nearly flawless, yet the execution never arrives. We treat the diagnosis as the destination.

If this is the situation right now, how do we imagine this theoretical “time bomb” will compare with our current lived experience? What margins of suffering, desperation and despondency could an explosion possibly add that aren’t already here?

I suspect that to maintain our sanity, we choose to imagine a vague future catastrophe rather than confront the horror of the present. Instead of describing a better world or executing the treatment that could improve our lot, we formulate a parallel, intellectualised threat. It is a psychological defence mechanism that allows us to endure the intolerable present by pretending the real crisis hasn’t arrived yet.

Throughout my career across South Africa’s and global leading financial institutions, government bodies, policymaking entities and consulting firms, I have seen these behaviours manifest everywhere. Whether working alongside external consultants or operating as a strategy consultant myself, the cycle is identical. In fact, you needn’t even leave your own family structure to recognise this trait of human nature.

But because social and cognitive sciences have identified this phenomenon, does it mean humanity must be defined by it? Are we permanently characterised by the flaws we diagnose? Somewhere along the line, we began treating the discovery of a problem as the ultimate pursuit and the sole measure of success.

We have built an entire institutional economy around the articulation of the crisis. We host summits, draft frameworks, publish white papers and release hundred-page diagnostic reports. The analysis is nearly flawless, yet the execution never arrives. We treat the diagnosis as the destination.

Scientific discovery and socioeconomic diagnosis cannot be indicators of success or end goals in themselves. They are merely an education. They tell us what is, empowering us to forge a path towards what should be.

The writer Iris Murdoch once captured the true purpose of illumination: “Education doesn’t make you happy. Nor does freedom. We don’t become happy just because we’re free — if we are. Or because we’ve been educated — if we have. But because education may be the means by which we realise we are happy. It opens our eyes, our ears, tells us where delights are lurking, convinces us that there is only one freedom of any importance whatsoever, that of the mind, and gives us the assurance — the confidence — to walk the path our mind, our educated mind, offers.”

A diagnosis is simply a map showing us exactly where we are broken and lost. True freedom, the freedom of an educated mind, is having the courage to look at that map, accept its grim reality, and then actively step off the path of dependence. It is time for our leadership, and our society, to break their addiction to the diagnosis and finally find the courage to administer the cure.

• Payi is an economist and strategist.