Jacob Zuma, the godfather of state capture, says South Africa is being run by a “crook” who does not care about the poor and vulnerable, and there’s really nothing more to say because that’s pretty much perfect.
I don’t mean that sarcastically. I genuinely don’t. The anger left me long, long ago, back when I finally understood that my antipathy towards Zuma was a failing on my part rather than on his; when I saw that I’d convinced myself that people like Zuma were politicians behaving badly rather than exploiters operating at peak capacity.
Of course, Zuma never quite made it into the scumbag elite, which is part of what made state capture so depressing. It’s one thing to get cleaned out by a world-class con artist or gangster, but the fact that Zuma is 84 and still having to kiss babies at election rallies in the Eastern Cape, rather than proudly watching Duduzane and Duduzile race their his-n-hers Lambos around a palace in Dubai, means Zuma remains an eternal B-lister, and we have to live with the knowledge that we got thoroughly done by an underachiever.
Still, as Zuma’s funders reluctantly tell each other on the 25th of every month, let’s give credit where it’s due. The fact is that by getting up on that stage and accusing someone of being a crook, Zuma was doing something that has worked for countless populists, priests, prophets and profiteers.
In theory it’s fairly simple. First, you tell people you understand their pain, their grief and their fear because their pain, their grief and their fear are also yours. Then tell them that they’re being deliberately abused by abusers.
Who those abusers are will depend on how much money their opponents are willing to pay you, but you can’t go wrong with naming foreigners, experts, the leaders of rival political organisations and the journalists who are finding evidence that you should probably be in prison.
Third, tell them that while these abusers are incredibly powerful, possibly because they are getting help from Satan, NGOs, or Satan’s NGO, you have, through prayer and conversations with your family, decided to dedicate your life to turning their suffering into triumph, so that their children can have a better future, perhaps by becoming foreigners in a richer country, training to be an expert in something, leading a new political organisation, or, if they so wish, becoming journalists.
It’s the fourth step, however, where the magic happens; where the genuinely gifted step up and the merely talented fall away. Because this is the point where you tell your audience something completely batshit crazy. Entirely detached from reality. Laughed out of every court or lecture theatre in the land.
This, of course, is the cue for the experts to roll their eyes and the pundits to write angry columns about irresponsible populism and politicians doing a bad job. But that’s not what’s happening, because you’re not doing politics. You’re doing alchemy. You’re turning words into gold, and that final, absurd barrage of nonsense is the alchemical catalyst; the magic words that separate the sceptic from the cult member.
It’s the fourth step, however, where the magic happens; where the genuinely gifted step up and the merely talented fall away. Because this is the point where you tell your audience something completely batshit crazy.
The people who leave were never going to be yours. But the few who stay behind are yours to rob blind. This is a kind of magic no ledger-shredding businessman could ever perform. The Markus Joostes or Bernie Madoffs of the world have to lie and conceal, slowly cracking under the strain of the facade. But for the likes of Zuma, or Donald Trump, or Shepherd Bushiri, or any of the thousands of hustlers selling grievance and miracles, it’s all gloriously explicit and almost entirely consensual. And if you ask someone to give away their critical facilities for you, and they do, they’ll give you anything.
Of course, some followers eventually get wary, or weary, or hurt. For every 11 disciples of a Temu messiah there’s a 12th, a Thomas asking for proof, and when the proof doesn’t come it’s inevitable that some will drift away. But these fishers of angry and lost men, these charismatic farmers separating the sheep from the scapegoats, don’t need everyone to believe. They just need enough that the coffers stay full, the backers stay loyal, the courts stay pliable and the prison doors stay shut.
Is Zuma a hypocrite? Sure. But mostly he’s just a man asking if there are any South Africans who, for their own complicated reasons, want to be his footstool — and then giving them what they’ve asked for.
• Eaton is an Arena Holdings columnist.
Business Day
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