One of the most fascinating statistics to emerge from Dr Greg Mills’s new book, Why Africa is Poor and What Africans Can Do about It, is that by the year 2025 the majority of sub-Saharan Africa’s population will consist of young people under the age of 25.
Mills argues that if these young people do not find jobs or create businesses of their own, they are likely to rebel against the state. Another interesting finding by Mills as to why the continent remains underdeveloped is that politics gets in the way of business. In essence, he argues that the private sector should be delinked from politics to avoid the corrosive and corrupting influence that such patronage engenders.
Surely, then, South Africa’s youth is doomed? Black economic empowerment has taught our young people that they don’t have to dream up innovative ideas to succeed. They simply need to be close enough to the political action to have access to lucrative mineral rights and other deals that are there for the taking.
The unintended consequences of empowerment have been mulled over since the inception of the law — that is, the personal enrichment of a few. We saw it happen under the previous administration and it seems to be gathering pace with the post-Polokwane regime.
But I’m far more curious about the type of person such a system breeds.
There are two types which I’ve seen emerge. Do accompany me on an imagined journey if you will.
Since the story of Khulubuse Zuma’s R70 000 drinks party at a Durban hotel came to light, I’ve been wondering about the people he was entertaining at such great cost and the conversation that might have unfolded there. He would’ve been holding court, sharing stories of his recent good fortune in securing lucrative mining deals and his future plans to conquer the Democratic Republic of Congo. Interspersed with these nuggets would be casual offers to his audience to please help themselves to more drinks. “Whatever you want chief, Lagavulin, Johnnie Walker Blue. Please help yourself, chief, it’s on me.”
His enamoured audience, in disbelief at their good fortune, would have thanked him profusely, something along the lines of “Nxamalala, Mhlonishwa” [honoured one] between swigs of the expensive single malts.
Other than imbibing the golden liquid, they’d be looking for advice on how they, too, might strike it rich on the mines overnight. They’d also be ingratiating themselves with him to benefit from his connections. And there’s the likelihood that they would be green with envy at his marvellous good luck, hence such a story, complete with the final tab of the drinks bill making its way into the newspapers.
So in this skit there are two characters at play: the newly moneyed big man, throwing cash around to impress his mates. Deep down in his conscience, part of the need to show off masks the knowledge and shame that this wealth was not the result of some accomplishment, business savvy or years of hard work and achievement.
The second character is slavish in his false admiration of the big man. Yet also in his conscience he is filled with self-loathing because he has been reduced to ingratiating himself with another man to earn his keep. Playing this role has eroded his pride. He is defeated. But he knows that he must continue the act if he is to get rich quickly and that realisation fills him with resentment.
So, however quickly either character earns his money, neither will go out into the world filled with a strong sense of self or pride. As a consequence, they are unlikely to become loving, nurturing, respectful and responsible, or good partners or fathers because, ultimately, they abhor what or who they have become.
I draw this conclusion based on what we understand about the socialisation of men. In his book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, comedian Steve Harvey explains that there are three things that make up the basic DNA of manhood. He says men are driven by “who they are, what they do and how much they make”. Until they accomplish these things, he argues, they are unlikely to feel they’ve fulfilled their destiny as men.