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Everyone was waiting for a showdown. It had been played up by the press and the EFF in the preceding days.
The question was just what sort of showdown?
I felt a bit like someone who knew they were having a night out, but not sure whether they were going to the theatre, a funeral, the wrestling, the circus, or a fancy dress party.
And clearly I was not the only one who felt this way judging by the outfits on display at the fiasco called the Opening of Parliament.
The DA in deep funereal dress, the EFF in overalls of building contractors and cleaners, and then the occasional misguided soul who bravely maintained that this would be a showcase for fashion.
If attendees knew what was good for them, they would have arrived in camouflage gear.
The one person who was inappropriately dressed for the occasion was President Zuma.
He made a mistake when he chose not to wear the clown suit.
The evening disturbed me for a number of reasons.
Firstly the very undemocratic decision to scramble the signal. That round was won by the journalists and the DA who would not let matters proceed without being given signal.
The evasive answers of the powers-that-be in pretending that no one really knew what was happening and who had given the orders fooled no one. But when faced with a cliffhanger, they conveniently found the ‘culprits’ and reversed the decision. The ineffectual bleating of the overwhelmed Speaker, Baleka Mbete, was scary under the circumstances. ( I think ‘baleka’ means to run in Xhosa – I think that would be a very good idea.)
Secondly, the huge expense incurred for this event. It was as if everything was bigger and better – and more expensive. Bands, pomp and ceremony, fly-bys etc. etc. Guys, we have nothing to celebrate. On the contrary.
We are a country in deep crisis and shouldn’t be spending one cent on congratulating ourselves. President Zuma should have made a statement by arriving in a taxi, and everyone should have worn jeans and T-shirts – and donated the difference to charity, or to Eskom. But then I repeat myself.
Thirdly, the lack of respect for the Institution of Parliament. The EFF, while they make a valid point about the Nkandla money, turned everything into a circus. The lack of respect for the House, I am afraid is shared by our President – Parliament and its rules are being used by him to hide behind, contributing to the fiasco we witnessed last night.
The use of police to remove the EFF was deeply questionable – the jury is still out on what exactly happened here and. But why not just beef up the Parliamentary security forces in advance? It’s not like the Speaker didn’t know what was coming. However badly they behaved, members of Parliament cannot be removed from the house by official police forces. The DA did right to leave in protest.
And next, the President. I don’t think anything can be more embarrassing to someone in his position than the disaster we witnessed last night. And yet, he managed to get up, an hour later, undisturbed as if nothing had happened, and resume his speech at the exact point where he had left off.
No acknowledgement of the unbelievable drama he had just witnessed, no mention of the money, no nothing. To me that was the most disturbing thing of the whole evening. He was completely unruffled, chuckling at his own jokes, and completely oblivious to the implications of the drama he had just witnessed.
It’s a bit like a man who gets left at the altar, and decides to go ahead with the party anyway and ends up having a jolly good old time. What I witnessed last night was not a normal human reaction under the circumstances. He probably gave the same chuckle when Eskom engineers told him years ago the power situation was dire.
I am an upright citizen, but found myself thinking last night that paying taxes is a waste of money. No one else is sticking to the rules – why should I?
I had the same unsettling, grim and disquieting sensation I had when listening to PW Botha speak in the Stellenbosch Town Hall in 1987. I went home and phoned my father and said I felt like I was on a large boat in a storm and the captain was busy hitting the bottle. OK, 28 years later, a different boat, a different captain and a different bottle – but still the same grim feeling of disaster lurking close by.
I wasn’t wrong then and I don’t think I am wrong now.
Fortunately the previous government trained us well in dealing with embarrassment in the international arena. They must have been good for something.
Halfway through the speech, I felt so depressed, I went and sat in the garden in the rain. It was either that, or take a bath, but my soul needed cleansing.
