The public protector’s report into former minerals and energy minister Penuell Maduna’s claim that the auditor general covered up the theft of R170-million of oil could turn into a classic text of how conspiracy theory is arrived at: find some “facts”, develop a thesis and then ignore anything that contradicts it.
It is worth reminding ourselves of the course of events. A Cabinet minister makes an astonishing and unconstitutional allegation in Parliament. He knows within days that he was wrong (as he later admits under oath) but he cannot be “bothered” to correct his mistake. Yet it takes two-and- a-half years of inquiry by a thinly resourced watchdog, 25E000 pages of evidence and some R30-million in taxpayers’ money to demonstrate he has made a cock-up of gargantuan proportions.
Courtesy of the Public Protector, Selby Baqwa, Parliament is presented with a bulky document that could, or certainly should, cost the minister his political career. Parliament, as requested by Baqwa, has appointed a committee to devise an appropriate sanction for the minister.
But before these parliamentarians have even been through the report, Parks Mankahlana, the spokesman for the Office of the President, pronounces that the minister’s job is safe, and that Baqwa’s report has nothing to do with Maduna’s political career.
In the same week as the report is tabled, Parliament puts the finishing touches to key Constitution-bolstering Bills that will hinge on the discretion, judgment and leadership of none other than Maduna. It is Maduna, for instance, who will be charged with selecting the judges for our new “equality” courts.
Maduna, it must be said, has made one important contribution to the development of a constitutional democracy. He has given Baqwa the opportunity to affirm his independence and prove his office’s mettle with a strikingly powerful and brave report. Maduna has similarly given the Office of the Auditor General the chance to affirm its competence and independence, the conclusion to Baqwa’s R30-million investigation being: “Having considered all the relevant issues and reports of the Auditor-General, I am of the opinion that these reports were indeed correct and proper, with the exception of one minor technical detail …” It is a conclusion to a saga that will arm the accounts watchdog against any future attacks on its integrity.
The 13th Man
Superstitions are, of course, familiar to the sporting arena. Mascots or charms are to be found in many a kit-bag, genuflections are common among athletes as they move into the starting blocks, and in soccer there must be few South African goalposts left un-anointed by “muti” potions.
When Hansie Cronje is off form, Allan Donald is suffering gout, Jonty Rhodes has been benched by deranged selectors and Nick Knight and Nasser Hussain are firing on all cylinders for England, there is justification in a citizen offering up a hurried prayer.
Several members of the national cricket team, including the captain, have identified themselves as born-again Christians, which is also acceptable – no one can quarrel with the right of the individual to fall back on his personal philosophical resources when faced by the bowling of such as a Shoaib Akhtar.
We cannot help but be concerned, however, when those personal gods become attached to a team – a sort of 13th man brooding invisibly on the bench, or a sponsor omnipotently in the sky.
The basis for this concern is a report, which to date has attracted no denials, suggesting that Ray McCauley of the Rhema Church has become “chaplain” to the South African cricket team.
We hold no prejudice against Mr McCauley as an individual and intend no disrespect to his church collectively. We are sure that he is well-placed to act as a counsellor to some of our leading sports stars, not least by advising them to stay away from the steroids which carried him to third place in the 1974 Mr Universe contest.
But if he is to be attached to the national cricket team, either by way of official confirmation, or popular identification, one can only fear that the trials and tribulations familiar to ecclesiastical battlefields will be visited on our grounds.
If a McCauley has secured the ear of God in the dressing room, so to speak, will he not be tempted to play the finger of God by way, for instance, of selection which is an over- crowded field of competence already?
To what strange practices will inter-church rivalry lead on the playing field? To a further proliferation of the sponsors’ logos which have already compromised the aesthetic born of peaceful village greens? Will the sledging be replaced by incantations, or even ritual curses? The pitch cluttered, perhaps with the smoky bric-a-brac of altars? The “barmy army” endlessly banging on about “Christian Soldiers”? Will a new trade in reliquaries spring up in the stands? “Your only chance, going cheap: the Saintly Pollock’s elbow, the Blessed Bradman’s eye …”
No, no! God does not play dice, Albert
Einstein assured us. We would hope that, in all his many manifestations, he will eschew cricket, too.