Our two-year state of caprice and corruption ends with a whimper

The national state of disaster the government imposed two years ago to curb the spread of Covid ended last week without fanfare. No revelry or celebrations to mark President Cyril Ramaphosa’s announcement — just a wearied shrug of the shoulders. Even the president seemed a bit downbeat. People have had enough, I suppose. They want their lives back. If anything, we should be grateful we’re mercifully done with “family meetings”.

But the lack of reflection on what we’ve just been through is a bit surprising given that these have been extraordinary — almost surreal — times. The toll the virus took on us is incalculable. Jobs were destroyed. Businesses went under. Too many lives were lost.

Most excruciating was to be isolated from loved ones who could least afford to be alone, especially those who were about to succumb to the virus. They died alone. Covid grief is a different type of grief. It has no closure.

The government’s response to the pandemic has been patchy. It has been flying by the seats of its pants most of the time. For a government that is incompetent at the best of times, it’s no surprise that this invisible foe would be a near-impossible challenge. But in fact President Cyril Ramaphosa started off well.

By the time he imposed swingeing lockdown rules two years ago — among the most stringent in the world at the time — there were already calls for him to act with some urgency. There was a sense of impending doom, given the havoc that the virus was wreaking in countries with more resources. And when a traveller recently returned from Italy tested positive for the virus, panic seemed to grip SA.

Ramaphosa rose to the challenge. He shut down the country, and ladled out huge sums of money to help the poor, keep small businesses afloat, build new medical facilities and buy personal protective equipment. The army was deployed to assist with maintaining law and order. He seemed in command.

But things soon went awry. The soldiers seemed to think they’d been given licence to mistreat members of the public. They had been supplied with sjamboks, and they put them to good use. In Alexandra township in Johannesburg, a man died at the hands of a military patrol. Soon thereafter, the soldiers were off the streets with nary an announcement from the government.

Ramaphosa’s cabinet ministers welcomed the extraordinary powers with glee. They appeared to interpret the state of disaster as an opportunity to flex their muscles, to do as they pleased. They were feeling their oats, almost outdoing one another in their attempt to be seen to act tough.

They were also making things up as they were motoring along. Each of them would march to the podium armed with lists of instructions — some of them trivial — that had to be obeyed. We were not allowed to buy chicken from Woolworths, came the word from on high.

Some of these commands were not only ridiculous but contradictory. Hours after the then health minister, Zweli Mkhize, assured people that they were free to walk their dogs under the lockdown rules, a bellicose Bheki Cele declared there would be none of that. “You’ll walk your dog in your own house,” he barked. He may not be a tyrant, but he surely looked the part.

Ebrahim Patel, the revolutionary minister of trade, industry & competition, kindly informed us what kind of underwear to buy; shoes could only be sold if they were “closed toe”; and short-sleeved shirts could only be sold with the firm instruction that they must be worn under a jersey or jacket.

Moving the country to level 4 in June last year, Ramaphosa announced the ban on tobacco products would be lifted. A day later, he was overruled by Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, who maintained the ban for months. Many were mystified that the president could be countermanded by one of his ministers.

But what sticks in the craw is the fact that these people were casually making rules that destroyed other people’s jobs and businesses while they, along with other public servants, continued to draw their salaries every month. Many businesses have not been able to get off the ground again. A feather in the cap of the likes of Dlamini-Zuma.

What also stunned the country was the discovery that billions of rands allocated to fighting the pandemic were stolen by ANC comrades, some of them close to Ramaphosa. A bubble burst: corruption was taking place under the nose of the man who came to power promising to fight it. He assured the country those involved would be held to account. Nothing seems to have happened.

Vaccination is now proceeding apace, but initially the government was caught napping. Because vaccines were not acquired timeously, many lives were lost unnecessarily.

On the whole people seem to be relieved these restrictions are behind them. Some churches have accused the government of double standards and targeting them, and have vowed to disobey some of the rules still in place. But some of their complaints are self-serving. Churches have been parted from their treasury for the past two years, in that they’ve not been able to pass the collection plate during services. This Easter weekend would have been the first time in two years that they could substantially replenish their coffers. But the government also prepared the rod for its own back by turning a blind eye to the blatant breach of lockdown rules at political rallies.

Ramaphosa has taken a huge gamble by lifting the state of disaster. What if the pandemic takes off again? Will there be the political will to reimpose the restrictions on a country that seems to be in such a foul mood? Only time will tell.