Nasrec a whole new league, more tense than ‘Game of Thrones’

IT DOESN’T matter how much you read about it, the actual experience is something totally different. The logistics alone of hosting more than 5 000 delegates, 1 000 journalists and all the support staff from security to caterers and cleaners is stupefying.

Here at Nasrec, the giant exhibition centre outside Soweto that’s cheek by jowl with the great calabash that hosted the start and end of the 2010 World Cup, it’s all running like clockwork. Everyone is unfailingly polite, everything works – except the internet in the media lounge.

It’s a little like the first day of school, there’s a lot of back slapping and hugs and then there’s people on the side looking a little lost, ready to burst into tears – I’m one of them. I’m a conference virgin.

I’ve never attended one, but the ramifications of each one have affected my life, all of ours in fact. The conferences, originally a convocation of the faithful, rubber-stamping policy and anointing leaders have morphed into a real-life culminating in Polokwane and the ascent of Jacob Zuma as party president and the unseating of Thabo Mbeki.

By the time Bloemfontein rolled around, was segueing into with pretenders to the presidency getting skewered. Now we’re at Nasrec. The old hands say it’s never been like this, never so close to call, never so tense.

The hacks; scribblers, bloggers, TV schlebs are all, literally, corralled in opulence. There is no access to the delegates whatsoever. Plenary, the open session, is closely guarded, it has to be. It doesn’t matter because there are TVs dotted all over the lounge. The only difficulty is the schizophrenia of having ANN7 on one TV and the TV immediately behind it being tuned to SABC. When they broadcast live, there’s a bizarre, almost hallucinogenic echo.

By the time Jacob Zuma is halfway through his mammoth 6 625 word speech, many of those who had plenary access are back in the lounge feverishly typing away, pausing to listen to the speech.

It’s hectic, old school journalism. The conference’s been delayed for almost five hours because of the urgent meeting of the National Executive Committee to discuss the ramifications of the hat-trick of court decisions on Friday barring entire Provincial Executive Committees, an assortment of branches and scores of delegates from attending.

Newspaper deadlines don’t wait for anyone, they certainly don’t respect the niceties of political conferences.

Afterwards, a calm descends. The deadlines have passed and now the conference is locked down as the delegates discuss the NEC’s decision of how to implement the various legal rulings.

It’s crucial stuff, literally down to the wire because every vote will be needed, even though the two opposing camps of Cyril Ramaphosa and Nkosazana Dlamini Zuma are exuding confidence.

There’s no resolution by Saturday night. When we arrive the next morning, we’re preparing for the doldrums. An old seasoned reporter thinks back to his days at Polokwane.

“It was different then,” he muses, “we stayed in the same hotels, we ate meals with them we drank with them, we knew what was going on.” This time though there’s no chance. . All we can do is peer forlornly at them… They don’t look at us. Nobody speaks, And then, in the middle of the morning, there’s a new hubbub. An unscheduled press conference.

The credentials have been accepted… There’ll be voting tonight. Maybe South Africa could well wake up to a brand new ANC leadership tomorrow.

– Kevin Ritchie, is Independent Media Regional Executive Editor in Gauteng

THEN WE KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON. THIS TIME THERE’S NO CHANCE