Police clear the remnants of protest action in Jeppestown, Johannesburg. File photo by Ihsaan Haffejee/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images
When I was five I slipped a jade bangle off the shelf at our local general dealer store and hid it under my jersey.
It was too big for my chubby little wrist, but I loved the way the green shades of emerald, sage, kale, celery and celadon danced together, rising like whisps of smoke from the smooth surface. The bangle was alive; I was entranced.
I knew it was wrong to take it. After all, I hid it inside my sleeve away from view, but the temptation was too great.
And then something happened that created an emotion that has stayed with me all my life. I was rumbled by my razor-eyed mother who, when she found the stolen piece of jewellery, with the price tag still attached, had my dad turn the car around. She marched me back into the store.
Charmain stole this, she told Mr A, who shook his head and looked sad. He, who always handed me a lollipop with a wink when I was in his store; he who called me “little angel” and ruffled my curly hair. I had let him down and they, all the adults, were deeply disappointed in me.
Did Mr A want to call the police? My mother was in a point-making mood. To avoid being reported to the law, I was to apologise and make a solemn promise never again to take anything that did not belong to me. Or to lie.
To this day I can still feel the deep sense of shame; the intense discomfort of embarrassment.
Have I been true to my promise to my mother? Have I always been utterly truthful? I have not.
I am a South African: we are a lawless lot. We lie and cheat and scam the system.
We do not obey the law. Worse, we flout the rules.
We cock a snook at the law and laugh out the side of our faces when we get away with something.
Lying is common among children. A Waterloo University study found that 96% of children lie at some point, with four-year-olds lying, on average, every two hours, and six-year-olds, on average, every hour.
Most parents would respond like my mother because they want to raise children who become honest adults. Most South African parents think that is what they are doing. But our lawlessness is ingrained; grown-ups are not good role models for children because we condone the breaking of the law, and we shrug at the skirting of the rules.
This was never more clear to me than when I was in Germany on holiday for most of December and January. People obey the rules. They wait for the light to turn green before switching street sides at robots. Pedestrians do not cross in the middle of the street. Really, never.
On the train in Berlin, I sat opposite my friend who first gently reminded me that wearing a mask on the train was mandatory before asking me to move seats as I was sitting in a seat reserved for the infirm.
But we’re in an empty carriage, I protested. It’s the law, she said.
She paid for parking — for one hour — in a deserted lot in a deserted town.
Buses and trains work on an honour system where it is assumed that you will buy a ticket. Nobody checks on whether you are compliant. Of course, if an inspector were to find you without a ticket, the penalty is prohibitively hefty.
One of the things that become evident is that everyone polices you. Your neighbours complain if you put your rubbish bins out on the street too early; they remonstrate if you don’t pick up your dog mess; they shout at you if you cross at a red light; they make sure you are in the right lane at the supermarket.
South Africans find it annoying to be told what to do.
It must be remembered that we are the survivors of apartheid. We come out of apartheid times where the rules were unfair and the laws demeaning. We were encouraged to make things ungovernable.
We listened to Rodriguez’s Cold Fact album with its anti-establishment message. Who can forget his song?
The mayor hides the crime rate
Council woman hesitates
Public gets irate but forget the vote date
Weatherman complaining, predicted sun, it’s raining
Everyone’s protesting, boyfriend keeps suggesting
You’re not like all of the rest
Garbage ain’t collected, women ain’t protected
Politicians using, people they’re abusing
The mafia’s getting bigger, like pollution in the river
And you tell me that this is where it’s at.
We are lawless.
A friend whose son failed his driver’s test three times put R500 cash in her son’s palm for the inspector. He passed.
Many people share the same password to subscriber-based networks.
We are not above bribing corrupt traffic officials who ask for “a cold drink” to avoid a fine.
We’re venal and corruptible and lawless.
And yet we are surprised and enraged when we hear that the country is being held to ransom by cartels who have so deeply invaded our power utility Eskom that it will take a gargantuan effort to dislodge them.
The corruption is so deeply ingrained that I am stumped to come up with a way of how to reverse it.
Perhaps the president needs to appoint an unbiased, non-partisan, highly respected international body to come in and do an audit, to uncover the scams and prepare documentation for prosecution. (They’d need round-the-clock protection, of course, as murder is an accepted punishment for anyone trying to change the status quo.)
We would need the National Prosecuting Authority to come to the party, to prosecute the offenders — and we need the television news networks to broadcast every minute of the court cases.
The point is this: we, the citizens of South Africa, have to up our game. On a micro level as well as in a wider context.
When the law says wear a seatbelt (my note to myself), wear a seatbelt.
When Netflix says a subscription is for one household’s use, don’t share your password with half a dozen friends. (I see the streaming channel is making that impossible.)
Don’t pay bribes.
If we clean up our act and begin to put a value on honesty — and trust in the law — we might begin to see a monumental shift in the morality of this country. Why? Because that will mean that those operating at the lowest levels — whom the bigwigs rely on to make the chain of corruption work — will refuse to be a part of the greater corruption that goes up the ladder.
Now, it is the small cogs in the wheel that make the cartels operate efficiently.
Full disclosure: I’m a practising Catholic and so I say this from that perspective. Religious beliefs have declined and, according to global statistics, are at an all-time low.
Would faith and belief help us return to a time of morality? Did such a time ever exist?
The jury is out in my head.
Charmain Naidoo is a journalist and regular Thought Leader contributor.
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Mail & Guardian.