There was a terrible moment when I thought he was going to lose his balance and topple over. Hoisted inelegantly on to some broad shoulders, a reluctant Thabo Mbeki looked even more like a fish out of water. I began to search desperately for the whereabouts of Victor Matfield, confident that the heroic lock forward would pluck the South African president from the sky should he start to fall. But for the first time since the World Cup final had begun, he was nowhere to be seen.
Happily Mbeki kept his balance and no doubt got some solid front-page pics out of it. The truth is, not only is he probably a bit old for that kind of caper, but he is simply never at ease in this sort of situation. He’s just too stiff, as is Gordon Brown, who looked barely less uncomfortable.
By contrast, a politician such as Nicolas Sarkozy excels — all natural charm and smiles and dapper mohair scarf. Poor old Mbeki had apparently been persuaded that it was essential to wear a Springbok puffer anorak — a fashion fate worse than death.
Is it wrong to tease the president at such a moment? Why carp at the indignity when one could join in the national celebration? Perhaps it is because I am English-born, and though I celebrated the rugby victory — because, yes, South Africa needs it more — I remain a fond adherent to our national tradition of not revering those with public authority but rather helping to check their use of power by a combination of irony and irreverence.
Irony plus irreverence equals political satire. Watching the BBC weekly satirical magazine show Have I Got News for You? this past week in the United Kingdom, I was reminded at how brutal the fun can be. You cringe at the remorseless piss-taking, but it is very, very funny.
No one and nothing is safe, from the prime minister down. Rory Bremner on Channel 4 is no less forgiving. There is the odd complaint, rarely from the political class itself, but they are pretty much ignored. Hard political satire is accepted, because it is ingrained in the political culture.
Is it in any way important for a healthy political democracy? The problem is if the distinction between respect for the office on the one hand and deference to the office-holder on the other is not understood. The former is an essential element in the social consent needed for a rule-based democracy. The latter might be a recipe for untrammelled abuse of power, exploited by those in leadership who wish to oppress any dissenting voices.
Poking fun at the office bearer does not necessarily mean you are disrespecting the office. More importantly, political satire lays the ground for a deeper level of public accountability: once a senior politician or public office bearer has been mercilessly parodied in a cartoon or by a columnist or stand-up comic, it serves to demystify their authority and dilute their power. It makes it easier for people — especially journalists — to ask them difficult questions, and it is only by answering difficult questions that politicians can account. Manto Tshabalala-Msimang is a textbook example.
In the UK, its last great public institution, the BBC, is under attack with a major review threatening serious cutbacks, especially of its news operation. Its future is at stake. The chair of the BBC Trust appeared last week on Newsnight — the corporation’s flagship TV news show — and Jeremy Paxman, the Beeb’s most famous interlocutor, tested him with a rapier-like series of questions. He began to sweat and stutter.
When he talked of the BBC’s need to serve the public interest with distinctive programmes, Paxman humiliated his (ultimate) boss by asking, with a withering stare, if he was referring to BBC3 shows such as Titty Titty Bang Bang and Fat Hairy Women Don’t Care: BBC3 spends £93-million a year to produce this rubbish, yet he was proposing to cut from the already comparatively modest budgets of Newsnight (£5-million) and the morning BBC Radio 4 show, Today (£8-million), which serve millions of viewers and listeners.
It is hard to imagine Jeremy Maggs having a similar go at Christine Qunta, isn’t it? And if he did, what would be the reaction? That he had failed to show proper respect? That a white English-speaker had failed to understand African culture, which places a greater emphasis on deference towards leadership?
The Constitution demands public accountability and protects the right to freedom of expression. But dignity is a potent underlying value. So there is nuance as well as balance to be found.
But our political culture remains decidedly short of real satire; surely it is a test of the robustness of a democracy: if it can’t take the humorous hits, our political leadership is hardly likely to be willing to answer the difficult questions. Jacob Zuma has sued Zapiro, the cartoonist: What does this tell us about his attitude to public accountability?
Zapiro has been a lonely purveyor of satire this past decade, like the plough at the front of a Siberian train pushing through the snow, yet few have joined the carriages behind. Through sheer brilliance he has touched the rawest nerves of the political class and prospered. Some are terrified of him: Ngconde Balfour, the Correctional Services Minister, apparently never reaches any decision without first asking his advisers. ‘But what will Zapiro do to this?” How amusing. How pathetic!
The link between political satire and political activism is to be taken to another level with the launch of Zapiro’s latest collection, which unsurprisingly features the minister of health on the cover. Apparently it is to be held at a branch of Fruit & Veg City and will be a full-on political event, involving the Treatment Action Campaign. Good for Zapiro. Good for Fruit & Veg. Good for the TAC.
With the publication of Primary Coloured by Brent Meersman — a hilarious account of life inside an opposition party — and the imminent launch of After the Party, by former ANC MP Andrew Feinstein, which will reopen the festering sores of the arms deal and pose new questions about the ruling party’s attempts to cover up the corruption, there is an opportunity — if not to break the mould, then to shape an alternative approach to our attitude to political leadership.
The dark days are lightening — and not just because of the amaBokke.