Freedom for the Prozac nation
blurb:isstoday29apr08
29 Apr 2008: Freedom for the Prozac nation
She is one of the captains of industry - something unthinkable for any black South African in the days before liberation. If anything, her guts and determination exemplifies the possibility we have to change the way we do business as usual. She is business unusual. And yet sometimes she is just more of the same.
It was painfully embarrassing to watch her on television two months ago at the fashion show that every year upstages the official opening of parliament in Cape Town.
Describing her African-inspired outfit to viewers, she ran her hands over her locally produced wooden necklace and then revealed an expensive Cartier wristwatch to the camera. This she proclaimed is ‘proudly South African’ as the proprietors of the Swiss-based multinational are the South African Rupert family. While they may choose to be based on the outskirts of Stellenbosch, we have yet to see Cartier employ local workers. What national pride comes from a Swiss-produced timepiece that sustains the expense account of one of the 500 richest families in the world? Surely this is the sort of pride that disconnects us from one another as a young African nation.
She is no doubt a complex individual and it would be unwise to judge her by one throwaway line. But it is a useful entry point to examine the apparent disconnection between the political and economic elite and the majority of South Africans. This malaise runs deeper than the current rant about motorcades carrying the most insignificant politicians. It is an irritation that has momentarily infuriated me in Berlin, Nairobi and Polokwane alike – an embarrassing representation of the venality of power. If only they know how foolish they look with their flashing blue lights in daylight. Like luminescent Viagra pills perched on top of German sedans, it seems to suggest impotence not power.
Rather, the disconnection is evident amongst a large swathe of the upper middle class, who, as economic beneficiaries of liberation are now toying with the idea of emigration to some imagined safe-haven. The past five years of rapid economic growth, booming property prices and low inflation has meant that many people have used money as an effective buffer to block out the ills of a developing country. In the glow of plasma screen televisions, ensconced within Disney-like themed and gated communities, many people live life as a blissfully constructed reality. However in the past year, three intruders have pierced this veil: power cuts, prospects of a Zuma presidency and high levels of violent crime. If the chattering classes are to be believed the three horsemen of the apocalypse have galloped into town unannounced and set up camp in Sandton Square.
There are of course sections of the elite with scarce skills, such as fatigued public health care workers, who are heavily invested in the realities of South Africa. Many however are not and they represent the ‘Prozac nation’ - which vacillates between euphoria about South Africa or are terminally depressed about the country’s future. While I embraced hope on the streets when South Africa was awarded both the 2010 soccer World Cup and crowned victors of the 2007 rugby World Cup, we all know that good times, like young love, seldom lasts. An investment in a country and its people in the long run means one has to accept that these highs and lows are traffic bumps rather than a roller-coaster ride.
The ‘Prozac nation’ is of course largely a legacy of the presidency of Thabo Mbeki. While he admirably railed against “the culture of bling” and criticized those who strive to “…get rich, get rich…” at all costs, his presidency also ensured generous opportunities for the elite. He and his policy mandarins also fuelled the illusion that long-term problems can be solved by short-term solutions, which, like credit card debt, provides few happy endings. There have arguably progress in access to public services by the poor, but we are not united as a people behind achievable social democratic goals such as the end of the toilet bucket system, universal access to free and efficient health care and education. Should this not be the real source of national pride?
Rather, as if pandering to the ‘Prozac nation’ we are led to believe that after the 2010 World Cup all our ills will be solved. The bloated budget of the Gauteng rapid rail will make the majority of South Africans mobile and the power hungry aluminum smelters of the Coega development will bring progress to the Eastern Cape. This provides the illusion of progress while setting us up for the worst hangovers. At the tender age of fourteen this young democracy is already prone to binge drinking.
It is sad to see how those around ANC president Jacob Zuma continue to exploit this kind of politics. Zuma has repeatedly made noises about the death penalty over the past few years. As a wily politician he knows that this serves only to shore-up political support, quenching an apparent thirst for revenge by a nation traumatized by decades of violence. You can almost hear the applause in shebeens and golf clubhouses when Susan Shabangu, the Deputy Minister of Safety and Security implores police to shoot to kill. The reported use of the chilling words ‘They (the criminals) will die’ suggests a vacuum of ideas rather than a tough stance on crime. Surely our history has taught us that gunfights beget gunfights. Political opportunism is not going to solve the recent peak in violent crime.
None of this suggests that the patient is terminal – it emphasizes the importance of a long-term approach to change. We can all do this in small ways, in the manner that we interact and show solidarity on a daily basis - and in our willingness to embarrass our leaders when they become victims of their own hunger for power. The choices became apparent during my long wait to register, as an observer, at the ANC Polokwane conference. In the December heat of the aircraft hanger I watched three of our wealthiest leaders in action at the registration tables.
Deputy President Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, married to a billionaire, entered the hall welcomed by muted silence. Members of the elite presidential protection unit, dressed in black, cocooned her behind their bulletproof vests, dark glasses and rifles. What did she fear - her own people?
Next Tokyo Sexwale, the billionaire showman, arrived to cheers of adulation and flashing cameras. It was his moment as an aspirant American presidential candidate, which subsequently evaporated as quickly as it had begun. Some argue all bling and no substance.
But if you looked hard enough you could spot the third billionaire, Cyril Ramaphosa. He was seated behind a desk registering party members and veterans. While he may also prefer Swiss timepieces, I do believe that we need more leaders who are prepared to roll up their sleeves and work amongst ordinary people. Just possibly real universal freedom will be attained in future through a commitment to social justice sustained by consistent hard work and a healthy dose of optimism.
As a society we cannot sustain the billionaires, however the elite needs a shift in mindset if the democratic project and freedom is to be sustained. It is time to kick the Prozac.
Hennie van Vuuren is head of the Corruption & Governance Programme at the Institute for Security Studies (ISS) in Cape Town
