The only way to kill corruption is to cut the snake off at the head

Lee Kuan Yew, the no-nonsense founding father of modern Singapore, was once asked how the now prosperous city-state, which during the colonial era was perhaps one of most corrupt in Southeast Asia, was able to turn the tables on the scourge. It was, he said, about unwavering political commitment and leadership. You start at the top and go after the big fish.

That not only sets an example; it sends a clear message to the entire population that corruption will not be tolerated under any circumstances. An anticorruption culture is ingrained in society. Last year Singapore was ranked the fifth least corrupt country in the world out of 180.

This tiny island nation has also become synonymous with a prosperous society — proof that a clean and honest administration is a prerequisite for a prosperous society.

South Africa is, on the other hand, corrupt, rudderless and backsliding. The reasons aren’t hard to find. The political will to fight corruption is at best tentative and feeble, and as a result, politicians and their friends turned state resources into a feeding trough. There are no consequences for wrongdoing. They have come to believe that the law doesn’t apply to them.

Which is why Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula reacted with outrage over being investigated for serious allegations of fraud and corruption. She has come to believe she’s untouchable. She blamed everything and everybody under the sun for her predicament but herself. And of course the prosecuting authorities are using dastardly apartheid tactics to harass her. No introspection; only self-pity, even likening her investigation to the subversion of the country’s constitutional principles. Very precious indeed.

But of course Mapisa-Nqakula is not alone in her bellyaching and playing victim. She’s following a path well-trodden by her pampered and conceited comrades, Jacob Zuma being the progenitor of the creed. Zuma is perhaps among a few people who, instead of paying for their corruption, have in fact profited politically from it. After being fired by Thabo Mbeki, he turned the tables on him, ousting Mbeki as party leader and prematurely driving him out as president of the country.

The Scorpions, his chief tormentors, were mercilessly butchered. He had his sights set on the judges and the media, and with his party full-square behind him would have succeeded but for the constitution, which guarantees an independent judiciary and freedom of speech.

Zuma’s flagrant disregard for the law has had a devastating impact on the country. It has not only hollowed out state institutions, it has instilled fear and uncertainty among those with the responsibility to uphold the law — witness the hesitation with which the so-called new NPA has tended to approach, or even ignore, some of the criminal cases involving high-profile individuals.

Such fear is likely to linger for a while. It’s no coincidence that general lawlessness in the country started rising during the time that Zuma was in office. The snake rots from the head, after all. Zuma’s criminality, and the state’s inability to rein it in, effectively opened the sluice gates on corruption. No sector of society has been left untouched by the scourge.

But the government could have nipped it in the bud. In 1995, a year after the ANC came to power, the national department of health allocated a hefty R14m to fund Sarafina 2, a musical show about Aids awareness written by Mbongeni Ngema. It was hoped it would ride on the coattails of the original Sarafina!, a blockbuster show that ran for over a year on Broadway. But spending such a huge sum of money, part of a donation from the EU, and the surreptitious manner in which the contract was awarded, unleashed a public outcry. Had the ANC acted decisively at the time, things might have turned out differently, and the country would have been the better for it. Instead it closed ranks and lashed out at its critics, thus giving its cadres cover and permission to go on a binge.

Now corruption is like a cancer that has spread to all parts of our body politic. Nkosazana Zuma, the minister responsible for the Sarafina! debacle, went on to bigger things and came within a whisker of becoming the country’s first female president. Suspects are never held to account; they prosper.

Even Mapisa-Nqakula was promoted to speaker of the National Assembly despite the fact that she came to the position dragging a slew of scandals. In fact it can be argued that she profited from her scandals in that President Cyril Ramaphosa, having been forced to remove her from the cabinet, needed some place to “park” her. Instead of getting the boot, she was promoted.

But, given the state’s tardiness in dealing with prominent suspects, Mapisa-Nqakula is probably entitled to ask why she’s being targeted while some of her comrades, with all manner of malfeasance hanging over their heads, are seemingly left untouched. Why, for instance, not Zizi Kodwa, who the Zondo commission recommended he be suspended and investigated, but was promoted instead? Why not Gwede Mantashe, the party chair, and Nomvula Mokonyane, both Bosasa assets, who remain influential in the party despite a scathing shellacking from Zondo? Why not Paul Mashatile, the deputy president, who seems to see nothing wrong in gallivanting with suspicious characters and seems to have access to unexplained wealth? And indeed, why not Ramaphosa himself, who has yet to come clean on the hundreds of thousands of dollars found stashed in a sofa on his farm?

Until we deal with corruption fearlessly, with no regard for position, it won’t be stamped out. Fighting corruption should be no different to fighting drugtrafficking. Forget the small fry. Go for the big fish.