The leopards in the cabinet haven’t changed their spots, and the public is right to be wary

Afriend likened President Cyril Ramaphosa’s explanation of his government’s U-turn on the sale of tobacco to a hostage forced at gunpoint to go on national television to plead for the acceptance of his captors’ demands. It’s probably more like a case of Stockholm syndrome: he’s a hostage who’s developed affection for his kidnappers. He turns his wrath not against them but against those who seek to rescue him.

It may seem harsh or over the top or even disrespectful to speak in such terms about the president, or to belabour what, to some, may seem like a minor point. But for a president to make an announcement on an issue of national policy, only to be countermanded by his ministers on what appear to be flimsy or spurious grounds, should be of great concern.

It’s even worse when the president himself gives this public humiliation the presidential seal of approval. One does not need a magnifying glass to see this constant pandering to those who wish him ill.

Ramaphosa’s newsletter this week was about issues relating to the lockdown, but it was also a defence of Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, who has come under sustained attack for reversing his decision to allow the sale of cigarettes. Ramaphosa jumped to her defence after the ANC Women’s League — unwavering acolytes of Jacob Zuma — called on the government to rally around her. Ramaphosa obviously also saw an opportunity to ingratiate himself with those who still find it difficult to accept him as party leader.

The decision to retain the ban on cigarettes, he said, “was a collective decision and the public statements by both myself and the minister were done on behalf of, and mandated by, the collective I lead”.

This is interesting. He sees himself not as the top dog, but as just one of many or simply as first among equals. He seems to play down his own status. But ministers are appointed by the president and they serve at his pleasure. Ramaphosa seems to see himself differently, as just another cog in the machine. And he doesn’t refer to “the government”, or “the cabinet” or even “the executive”, but to “the collective I lead”. SA is a constitutional democracy. Everything the government does or says is governed by laws. There’s nothing called “the collective” in the constitution.

But that probably explains his style of leading from behind, fudging things and making decisions only when it’s abundantly safe to do so. The result is inaction or paralysis. Two years after taking office with a sense of urgency to sort out the mess the country was — and still is — in, it’s touch-and-go with Eskom, SAA is in a perilous business rescue programme, and Shamila Batohi has gone to sleep at the National Prosecuting Authority. The country is drifting.

Ramaphosa seemed to find his footing when Covid-19 erupted, cajoling all and sundry, marshalling resources and in the process creating a feel-good sense of purpose and direction.

Until his ministers got involved, and poisoned the well. What started off as a noble national undertaking — uniting all strata of society to combat the disease — nearly ended acrimoniously in court this week with disgruntled parties intent on picking holes in the lockdown rules. It’s a pity the case didn’t go ahead. It could have clarified a few issues. One being whether the contraption called the National Coronavirus Command Council (quite a mouthful!) has any basis in law. Are its decisions legal?

But it should not be a surprise that the cabinet has no qualms about reversing Ramaphosa’s decisions and giving the impression he’s a lame duck: he leads a government that often speaks with a forked tongue.

Sending out the police and the army at the start of the lockdown, the president spoke movingly about how they should go out to serve the people, not terrorise them. But the likes of police minister Bheki Cele were sending the skiet-en-donder message that Ramaphosa had warned against. The security forces were soon at it, frogmarching and sjambokking civilians. Right now Ramaphosa’s government is in court, its soldiers accused of killing an innocent man in

Alexandra, Johannesburg.

The government is quick to say it relies on expert advice when implementing these laws. Yet health minister Zweli Mkhize was overruled on running and jogging by the securocrats in the command council. Finance minister Tito Mboweni has been vocal in his opposition to the ban on the sale of cigarettes and alcohol, with a loss of hundreds of millions of rands to the fiscus.

The collective apparently doesn’t seem to include Ramaphosa’s deputy, David Mabuza, who appears to have mysteriously gone AWOL. Not that anybody is complaining. The country is better off with him practising social distancing. He was of course responsible for Ramaphosa pipping Dlamini-Zuma to the post for the

ANC leadership. In the end, though, that doesn’t seem to matter; she lost that battle but she’s winning the war.

Ramaphosa calls for trust between the government and the people if we are to prevail against the disease. But it is his party — through criminal behaviour like state capture — that has betrayed the public trust. And the country has yet to emerge from that quagmire. People are therefore entitled to be on their guard or suspicious, especially when some in his team seem to want to revert to type.

Public trust cannot be demanded or legislated; it has to be earned — through exemplary conduct by those in authority.