The remarkable success of Jacques Pauw’s *The President’s Keepers* can largely be attributed to its striking cover—an image of Jacob Zuma, head thrown back in laughter. This image was more than symbolic; it captured the essence of a leader who, true to his name, “he who laughs while hurting you,” openly reveled in his defiance. Zuma laughed in parliament, at Nkandla, and even under the scrutiny of international media, as his inner circle plundered the nation’s coffers.
While Pauw’s revelations were not entirely new, and the book had its share of criticism, it encapsulated the collective outrage at a president who seemed to mock the country as he and his allies hollowed out the state. Despite the failures of his grand state-capture project—Gupta allies fleeing, others facing ignominious ends—Zuma, South Africa’s “Tsar of Stalingrad,” remained defiant, bouncing from one courtroom to the next.
Astonishingly, even with his grand schemes crumbling, Zuma found a way to establish a foolproof state-capture mechanism. His creation of the MK party, solidified with a newly endorsed constitution, turned him into a near-dictator, wielding unchecked power. This system, grounded in patronage, mirrored the very state-capture structure he previously oversaw. The MK party’s rise represents not just an extension of Zuma’s influence but a new phase of control, particularly in KwaZulu-Natal, where loyalty is often enforced at the barrel of a gun.
Zuma’s masterstroke lies in creating a party that thrives on a patronage system within another patronage system. While some might see this as a destructive force, in impoverished areas, political gatherings funded by the state can provide much-needed sustenance, echoing Mangosuthu Buthelezi’s mass rallies of the homeland days.
At the top of this food chain are the party’s MPs and provincial legislators, pocketing hefty salaries and pensions. Dissent is ruthlessly crushed, and allegiance to Zuma is paramount, fostering a cult-like loyalty reminiscent of dictatorships worldwide.
However, Zuma’s dominance is not just about political maneuvering; it taps into a deeper, more philosophical concept known as “destituent power.” Rooted in the ideas of thinkers like Walter Benjamin and Hannah Arendt, destituent power refers to a counterforce that resists traditional forms of governance without necessarily offering an alternative. It’s a form of power that destabilizes established structures without creating something new.
This kind of power is pervasive in South African politics today. Whether it’s the Stalingrad legal tactics of Zuma and his allies like Busisiwe Mkhwebane or the frequent service delivery protests, the goal is not to build but to disrupt. Even the student uprisings that surface annually seem more focused on throwing a spanner in the works than advancing a clear agenda.
In Zuma’s MK party and the EFF, we see political movements not driven by ideology or a clear vision for the future, but by a disdain for the current order, particularly the constitution. These movements reject the status quo without proposing a viable alternative, embodying the very essence of destituent power.
Despite the ANC’s dominance, destituent forces are gaining traction. With the MK party and the EFF securing around 21% of the vote, there’s a growing undercurrent of dissatisfaction. Some, like Thuli Madonsela, argue that the ANC’s electoral support reflects a desire for transformation, but in reality, it might signal a longing for destituent change—a rejection of the current system without a clear plan for what should replace it.
The ANC, too, is not immune to this. Its reliance on cadre deployment has transformed it from a revolutionary movement into a destituent force. Cadres are often deployed not to lead but to occupy positions, with no clear mandate other than to maintain the status quo. In many ways, this passivity has paralyzed the party, leading to widespread inefficiency and corruption.
President Cyril Ramaphosa’s administration, characterized by inertia and slow decision-making, reflects this destituent tendency. His government’s failure to act decisively, coupled with the ANC’s reliance on patronage networks, has led to a system where loyalty is rewarded, and dissent is crushed.
Ramaphosa’s recent embrace of a Government of National Unity (GNU) following the ANC’s electoral losses is another expression of this destituent power. While hailed as a triumph of democracy, the GNU can also be seen as a regression to constituent politics, co-opting opposition parties into a broader alliance that serves to entrench the status quo rather than challenge it.
The future of South Africa remains uncertain, with destituent forces exerting increasing influence. Zuma’s corruption trial will be a crucial test. If his Stalingrad strategy continues to delay justice, it will serve as a stark reminder of how destituent power can erode the very foundations of governance, leaving a legacy of stagnation and decay.
Yet, destituent power is not entirely negative. It has the potential to pave the way for new ideas and movements, especially among South Africa’s youth. While the country’s political landscape may seem bleak, there is hope that the creative energies of younger generations can transcend the destructive tendencies of destituent power and bring about meaningful change.
In the end, South Africa’s destiny will be shaped by how it navigates the complex interplay between constituent and destituent forces, between creation and destruction, and between the legacy of its past and the possibilities of its future.
