What if Zuma falls?
IT WAS a cold grey Monday morning in Paris, France, in 1999. Being in charge of a presidential visit is a logistical nightmare, but this one was easy. No escorts, no bells, no whistles, a low-key visit to address a meeting of the international socialist movement. Our VIP was a very relaxed and no-nonsense person.
When we booked then-deputy president Jacob Zuma into his hotel at 7am, just off the Champs-Elysées, his entourage informed us his suitcase was misplaced and he had an important presentation to make at 9 that morning, and was without a suit.
In the cold Parisian morning breeze, I volunteered, and set off on the ChampsElysées to find a tailor. At first Zuma was fine with the idea that he would be able to explain his relaxed attire to the gathering of renowned international socialists. Zuma came across as a decent fellow, not asking the impossible from those around him.
After covering the length of the ChampsElysées I found a tailor and brought him to the hotel. A suit was adjusted for Zuma on the spot. He was friendly, non-aggressive, easygoing and expressed a deep, humble appreciation for the effort we made to find him a suit in those early hours in Paris.
I later met him again during negotiations between the Hutus and Tutsis in Bujumbura, Burundi.
He was facilitating direct talks between them at the time.
Former president Nelson Mandela was getting old and Zuma was instructed to assist with him. I remember briefing him in Kigali on the position of President Paul Kagame. He always listened patiently like a true elder.
Some in his entourage were convinced that these qualities of patience, humbleness and an open consultative approach made him a perfect fit to be the next Mandela. When we finished the briefing in Kigali we waited patiently to hear what Zuma had to say. After a moment of silence he threw back his head in a sort of contemplating manner sighing: “Oh, Africa my Africa”.
This act was a clear indication of his disillusionment at the time with his African counterparts who entertained themselves with petty politics. I was impressed and liked him.
I have defended him on many occasions as I came to know him in those days as a down-to-earth, humble person, a likeable fellow.
Returning recently to South Africa after years abroad and seeing how things have developed, I am concerned about the man I met many years ago. The elder, the sage, the potential wise leader of a nation and, needless to say, the question begs itself: what happened to that man? Is it possible that a man who was so gifted in leading discussions for hours between the Hutus and the Tutsis to get them to reach common ground in Burundi would eventually fail so dismally at governing a nation? What happened to that man? I think we need to dig deeper and try to understand the flaws that comes with democracy. Democracy is not the magic answer, and certainly not the answer in many African countries and cultures.
In itself, democracy is dependent on a culture that questions things. We can safely assume that in some cultures questioning things is just not a priority. We have to accept we are all different. Democracy becomes a system and not an individual.
When I first arrived in Bujumbura, Burundi, where I eventually lived for five years, I was picked up at the airport by an acquaintance of a South African envoy in Kigali.
We did not go far when the traffic came to a complete stop. There we sat and the man in the middle of the road held an AK-47, so no sense in getting upset. Asking my new driver what the hold-up was, I was told that the president was travelling to the airport.
My next impatient question as a South African almost came naturally: “Why would you allow this.” The answer was very clear almost as if it was a silly question: “He is the president…”
How does this happen then? I have seen it too often in African countries where the leader initially starts out as a father of the nation and is eventually reduced to the head of a clan.
It always starts with good intentions but somewhere along the road they lose that direction and that leadership.
The only man I know that would go beyond those around him was Kagame.
He, like Mandela, was a leader of a nation and not of a clan, as the interests of his people overrode that of even his closest confidants.
What does this mean for those who want the head of Zuma? Does it matter if the Republicans or the Democrats win in the US? No, it does not really as democracy creates a system and it is that system that takes over.
The same goes for Africa with a small difference. Presidents normally do not find the cream of the crop to surround them, but are normally surrounded by people who want something and who benefit from the incumbent’s presence.
I think back to a time in Bujumbura where I had to brief Zuma on talks with the Hutu rebels. The hallway in front of his humble suite was abuzz with security detachments, protocol people, private secretaries screaming and shouting, “cancel that meeting”, “the chief should not be bothered!”, “step out of the way”, “the chief cannot talk to him now, he must wait!” – a real beehive.
Once inside it was dead quiet and Zuma was eating dinner alone. It dawned on me that he was not the master and commander, the busy outside was dictating his fate. Makes you wonder, what if he falls? The system will remain and a new chief will take that quiet spot in the suite. For now the masses want blood, and they will get it. Imagine the moment, Zuma falls, but the culture, the system, remains.
It will take very strong leadership to turn things around. If we do not get that, will we then want more blood?