The laughing hyena that came among us dressed as a goat

PERHAPS the other striking thing to emerge from the overhyped visit by parliamentarians to Nkandla a few weeks ago — apart from the shockingly poor upkeep of the place — was the little goat that was caught by the cameras, shivering in the corner inside one of the buildings, its droppings decorating the floor.

Why the poor thing was there in the first place — or what subsequently became of it — nobody seems to know, or care. But the sight of the animal inside a presidential mansion just about took the biscuit.

It’s a metaphor of sorts. It almost captures the buffoonery and ribaldry, the perversion and corruption, the suspension of normalcy and the fantasy that has come to characterise the reign of Jacob Zuma. Anything goes.

A few days later the man himself was in parliament answering yet more questions on Nkandla. He had the demeanour of a man facing a firing squad. He was more stonewalling than answering. The goat didn’t get a mention.

He appeared ignorant about most things. He didn’t seem to know, for instance, that one of his ministers had taken the unprecedented step of ordering the closure of a mine, with dire consequences for people’s livelihoods. The minister hadn’t told him, he deadpanned.

Like the shivering goat at his homestead, he appeared more a victim than a leader. In fact, Zuma has played the role of victim to good effect over the years as he has fumbled his way to the top. It’s a ruse he’s still using as he tries to wriggle out of the Nkandla imbroglio.

What’s so remarkable about Zuma is not so much that the veneer is believable; it is that so many people have been so convinced by it that they’re prepared to put their reputations on the line to defend him. Some have lived to regret it, apologising profusely to no one in particular for their miscalculations. One can expect a few more such apologies in future.

Zuma’s selling point as a politician has always been a mystery. He falls down on almost all aspects that make for an attractive politician. His speeches are boring and turgid. His delivery can sometimes grate. His vocabulary is limited and therefore he can hardly think on his feet. Not one for a quick put-down or repartee. The mere mention of his name makes many of his compatriots ill to the stomach. He’s of no use except as a butt of cruel jokes or ridicule.

But he has the knack of understanding people’s insecurities and exploiting them to his advantage. His sycophants bravely bat for him in the hope that at some point a morsel or two will be tossed in their direction. In power, Zuma has been meticulous in using state resources to reward his flunkeys. And like an elephant, he doesn’t easily forget slights against him.

Zuma’s control of the levers of power has, along with his sense of victimhood, become part of his political arsenal, oiled by a fair amount of dishonesty and deceit, which has now infected all layers of society.

When, 10 years ago, thenpresident Thabo Mbeki fired Zuma as his deputy for allegedly having accepted a bribe, it was a perfectly correct and courageous decision that should have won universal acclaim. Instead, Zuma’s alleged corruption was almost forgotten as the victim narrative took centre stage.

Mbeki, it was alleged, had coerced Bulelani Ngcuka, the national director of public prosecutions, to bring charges against Zuma in order to stop him from succeeding him as president. The accusers conveniently forgot that had Mbeki not appointed him his deputy, Zuma would, at best, have ended up as an inconsequential premier of KwaZulu-Natal.

When politicians challenge for leadership they often have a platform or a set of ideas about what they intend to do once in office. Zuma offered no such manifesto, except that he had been wronged. That clarion call of “victim” was so powerful and convincing, it made short work of Mbeki’s challenge in Polokwane.

That the emperor had no clothes didn’t seem to matter to his supporters. The pleasure was simply in seeing their hero at last getting his revenge on his arch-rival.

His rape charges were initially seen as the cunning exploits of Mbeki and his people. When that failed, Zuma blamed it on his culture, which didn’t allow him to leave a woman in a state of readiness. Zuma was playing victim even as he set in motion a series of events that were to lead to the dropping of serious charges against him. This time the villains of the piece were Ngcuka and Leonard McCarthy, who allegedly used the National Prosecuting Authority as a political tool. They abused his rights, he said, and the hapless Mokotedi Mpshe therefore had no alternative but to drop the charges.

This sense of victimhood, and the deceit that goes with it, has so corrupted society’s value system that wrong has almost become right, and vice versa.

The sense of chaos and doom is getting everyone’s goat. That, however, is not enough. Democracy is not a spectator sport. Comment on this: write to tellus@sundaytimes.co.za or SMS us at 33971 www.timeslive.co.za