When the entire tripartite alliance leadership flees from workers, SA is in trouble

The extraordinary sight of President Cyril Ramaphosa being spirited away in a police armoured vehicle amid jeering workers, from what was supposed to be the marquee May Day event, was not only humiliating for the first citizen, it doesn’t bode well for a country in desperate need of strong and assertive leadership.

At the Royal Bafokeng stadium, the guest of honour was sent packing by his audience. It was surreal; an astonishing turn of events. At the height of the rebellion in the townships, a nyala was a menacing symbol of white power, uncompromising brute force. It could often be seen chasing hapless demonstrators, or parked at strategic places, anticipating trouble. Now it was transporting the president of the new SA, probably the most valuable cargo the nyala has ever carried.

And for a moment there inside the nyala sat the entire leadership of the tripartite alliance. Enjoying the ride with the president were Cosatu president Zingiswa Losi and Blade Nzimande of the SA Communist Party, running away from the wrath of the people they claim to represent. They later said that, far from scampering from the baying mob, they were in fact offered a ride with the president.

One wonders what the chitchat was about in the comfort of the nyala. Did they dismiss their premature and disorderly departure as a response to the doings of a few hotheads? Or did their predicament give them cause to reflect on the state of the nation?

Things seem to have come full circle for Ramaphosa. He’s a creature of the labour movement. He came to prominence through his union work, which propelled him to power and riches. Cosatu was also crucial in chaperoning him to the leadership of his party and the country. The unions have been rewarded handsomely for their support over the years. The ANC government has passed some of the most union-friendly laws. But that didn’t seem to cut any ice with the striking miners who converged on the stadium on May Day, a sacred day in the workers’ calendar, intent on driving their point home.

What Ramaphosa must have found more irritating was the fact that some of his tormentors were members of the National Union of Mineworkers, the union he founded. Representing arguably the most exploited workers in the country, he built NUM into a formidable economic and political force that took on the titans of the mining industry. That was the anvil on which his political career was crafted — from ANC secretary-general leading its negotiating team at Codesa, to helping to draft the new constitution. When his ambition to succeed Nelson Mandela was frustrated, he ventured into business and made oodles of money. During his exile from politics, the cognoscenti pined for the best president the country was destined never to have. He seemed tailor-made for the job.

But on May Day, as he stood in front of the sparse crowd, he seemed out of touch. This was the world that he used to be accustomed to; he knew it like the back of his hand. But now he seemed bereft even of the sort of language that would have roused the passions of workers. Mercifully the nyala came to his rescue.

Ramaphosa has brought this on himself. Royal Bafokeng stadium is not far from Marikana, where 34 people were killed by the police and where his reputation seems to have bitten the dust. Ramaphosa has allowed the massacre to be an albatross around his neck. Jacob Zuma was the president and Nathi Mthethwa was the police minister when those miners were butchered. Ramaphosa was not in government, but for some strange reason he’s been left carrying the can. He’s to blame, though. He’s never tried to push back or explain why, as a Lonmin director, he urged the authorities to take firm action against the strikers. He’s allowed his enemies to caricature him. Now one cannot mention Marikana without being reminded of Ramaphosa’s misdeeds.

It wouldn’t be that serious if the massacre and its aftermath were Ramaphosa’s problems alone. But it seems to affect the way he governs. The country is becoming more lawless by the day; the police seem too intimidated to take firm measures against criminality because of the prevarication at the top. There’s no doubt the Marikana syndrome was largely to blame for the authorities’ inaction during the unrest last July. The government couldn’t bear the shooting of civilians. And the police sat on their hands. Ironically, the inaction didn’t stop the death and destruction; instead it fuelled it. Hundreds were killed and property worth billions was looted and destroyed.

People should sit up and listen when a president speaks. If not the man himself, they should at least respect the office he holds. The striking miners in Rustenburg last week booed and made fun of him. That, too, is a reflection of how he carries himself. Ramaphosa doesn’t project the image of an assertive and decisive leader. He seemed to go into his shell on taking office, becoming diffident and almost apologetic. It’s interesting that even though he’s running for a second term — he’s considered a shoo-in for re-election — he already seems to bear the imprint of a lame-duck president. That doesn’t bode well for the country.

There’s also a sense of alienation among these workers, their leaders obsessed with the vanity and lucre that come with political power. Interestingly, from its inception Cosatu opted to align itself with a political formation instead of making common cause with other worker federations. They are now cogovernors of SA with the ANC. Which is why the three found themselves shooting the breeze inside the nyala.