Obscured by the tragi-salacious detail of the Jacob Zuma rape trial are deeper reasons as to why this story is powerful far beyond the accused as potential president.
The event reflects an underlying narrative about the contemporary conduct of South African politics and it also speaks to us about much broader sex and power issues.
The political narrative for the Zuma-ites is one of political betrayal. It is of a cynical Thabo Mbeki trampling African National Congress traditions to thwart Zuma’s natural ascent to the top office.
The backdrop ethos is of a noble struggle tarnished through the centralisation of authority and abuse of state institutions for partisan ends. The ”legitimate” response: Street power, replete with intimidation, stonings and the burning of images.
This depressing deeper political resonance of the trial does not stop with the Zuma supporters. It is also to be found among those who previously thought that pro-capitalist or pro-socialist interests were what powered political struggle.
For this group, the meaning to be drawn from the trial is that Marx, finally, needs to be superceded by Machiavelli. In this vein, ideological politics have been reduced to tribal posturing and factional manoeuvring. Ideology lines are not in contention — instead, politics is about career politicians exploiting any issue (when, that is, they are not selectively leaking information or sending out faked e-mails).
Common to both the Zumites and the ex-Marxists, therefore, is that the court case signifies the venal nature of contemporary politics. Whether the rape charges were politically motivated may or may not be true. What is beyond doubt, is that major political capital will be made by whichever camp stands to benefit from the judge’s ruling.
In conclusion, this is not simply a court case about rape — it is also about how we perceive political practice in South Africa today.
The second deeper theme in the case — ie., sexual power — does relate to the rape aspect as such.
For the Zuma supporters, the complainant is Eve — the familiar temptress figure manipulating the apple of her sexuality. No guessing as to the identity of the serpent in the background. This narrative reinforces the too easy myth of the intrinsic untrustworthiness of the female where wicked women entrap innocent men.
Another ancient myth stirred by the complainant is a Freudian-style one: A disturbed woman with an Oedipus complex who is driven to seduce a father figure but who then blames him so as to repress acknowledgement of her action.
On the other side, there are the very different underlying themes of male predators and patriarchal sexuality. These contrast with many Zuma supporters, for whom rape is understood as entailing violence as an essential ingredient.
The accused himself told The Sowetan newspaper he was not a rapist, because he had no problem attracting sexual partners. Such a perspective on what rape entails is reinforced by our history in which apartheid power was, indeed, nakedly brutal.
In contrast, for gender activists, rape is sex as an exercise of power — and such power does not always have to wielded through direct physical force.
Illustrating this perspective is the taboo on bosses, teachers or lecturers having sexual relationships with those under their authority. It was also present between former United States president Bill Clinton with White House intern Monica Lewinsky. There, the ambitious and awe-struck female pleasured the male president without reciprocation. His prestige and status secured her services.
The parallel in the Zuma case is a powerful and charismatic man, who — by his own admission — says he has no shortage of willing sexual partners. He — like Clinton — would probably not see these relationships as sexual exploitation, despite any inequalities involved. As with many instances of non-violent exercise of power, it is invisible to those who wield it.
Pursuing this theme, it is significant that testimony was that the complainant ”froze” during the intercourse, that Zuma found her ”delicious”, and that he achieved ejaculation. Meanwhile — symbolising power differentials — there was no evidence led that she experienced orgasm, and nor was this even reported as an issue.
This is not to prejudge the actual nature of the sex between Zuma and his accuser, but to draw attention to the problematic character of ”consensual” sex between unequal parties.
The point also gives a wider context to an ethnic discourse that arose around the trial and which suggests that a mindset of men-as-entitled-to-sex is part of ”Zulu tradition”.
It is true that the ”Natal Code”, a product of colonial law, for far too long held Zulu women in the position of subordinate minors, even as regards their sons. Yet, as the Clinton case shows, the question of male leader power cannot be reduced to ”backward” Zulu-ism versus Western culture.
In short, although there is a narrative in the trial about (claimed) Zulu culture contrasting with ”modern” norms, it is also one that loses credibility on closer inspection.
The point to make from all this? The Zuma trial, at heart, deals with a universal theme: the operation of power in sexual relationships. Here we see a powerful older man, and a younger woman, who whether actually wronged or not, has initiated a post-hoc challenge to him having sex with her.
It is, in short, a disruption of a classic status quo that makes for compelling news.
This power issue is so profoundly embedded in the trial that neither media audiences nor media producers are always aware of it. At the same time, we have here a fundamental matter with which many people can identify — even when it is buried beneath the surface.
Another dimension of sex and power that makes the story compulsive has been the link to ultimate powerlessness: ie., to death from HIV/Aids. Zuma’s gamble that he would not be infected represents the bizarre thrill of vicarious risk that goes with any dangerous spectacle.
In sum, to see why this trial elicits so many emotions, one has to consider the backdrop of the broader narratives. In particular, this case goes beyond the individuals involved to signal meanings about our political style and gender power.
Surfacing these themes gives us insight into the unfolding ”story” as it plays. Perhaps, too, it also gives us insight into ourselves.