As MK and DA put the boot in, sanity has nowhere left to park

Ah, Chief Dwasaho! In the Republic of the Gupta, politics no longer needs scriptwriters. It writes itself, edits itself badly, then holds a press conference to deny what it said yesterday.

Take uMkhonto Wesizwe (MK), that holy confusion party dressed in Pep camouflage, a curious blend of family loyalty, revolutionary nostalgia and WhatsApp governance. Last month, the party of Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma performed a feat so extraordinary that even seasoned political comedians struggled to improve on it.

MK expelled DuduZille Zuma-Sambudla and former spokesperson Nhlamulo Ndhlela. One was the family megaphone; the other was the party’s official voice until the microphone was confiscated.

Read that slowly, my leader.

A party built around Zuma has fired his daughter. A political movement born from personal loyalty has suddenly discovered discipline, procedure and constitutional order. It is like a tavern discovering temperance, or Johannesburg Water discovering water. Imagine.

DuduZille was never just another politician. She was MK’s social media artillery unit, the digital praise singer and the permanent thunderstorm over Nkandla. When others issued statements, she issued warnings. When others explained party positions, she announced the family’s decisions.

Now she is out. Expelled. Removed. ­Politically evicted from the very house she helped to decorate.

What exactly is MK without DuduZille? It feels like Parliament without heckling or a taxi rank without a queue marshal. Like the DA without Gogo Zille. Technically possible, but somehow unnatural.

Then there is Ndhlela, whose political journey lately resembles a press statement drafted during load shedding by a committee of angry relatives. One day, he speaks for the party. The next day, he does not.

MK says both of them violated the party constitution. My leader, when exactly did this constitution arrive? Did Takealot deliver it? Was it hidden beneath a leopard skin at Nkandla? Did somebody only remember its existence once the family feud became administratively inconvenient?

MK has never looked like a party governed by documents. Instead, it has always looked like a political gathering where history chairs the meeting, grievance keeps the minutes and mystery manages the finances.

Still, let us congratulate it. In a country where political parties often expel principles while retaining people, MK has at least expelled people while claiming to defend principles, such as a presidential decree binding on all.

New kid-you-not on the block

But my leader, MK is not alone in this national theatre of the absurd. Enter the DA, that permanent school prefect of South African politics, now discovering the pleasures of playground power. Geordin Hill-Lewis, the youngster from Cape Town, newly crowned DA federal leader, has apparently looked at the Cabinet of the republic and decided: “Ngizoyishintsha le nto.” (I will reshuffle this thing.)

The boy has not even been sworn in as president of the republic, yet already he is rearranging national furniture. He asked you, the chief tenant at Mahlamba Ndlopfu, to move former DA leader John Vuli Gate Steenhuisen from agriculture to a deputy ministerial chair, then announced the whole thing through a press statement, not even the courtesy of a live broadcast.

Imagine the Uber Eats app trying to find Baas John’s new address, only to discover that the menu has changed too. Steen­huisen, once the DA’s fearless driver, is now being told to sit in the back seat, fasten his seatbelt and enjoy the scenery.

This is the delicious part, my leader. In the old South Africa, opposition parties criticised Cabinets. In the Republic of the Gupta, opposition parties send Cabinet instructions to the president like grocery lists.

Dear President, please remove Baas John, fire a few ministers for texture, add new ones for freshness, swap the deputies like expired supermarket labels, stir gently and serve before the local government elections. Garnish with reform language, sprinkle lightly with “accountability” and pretend this is not cadre deployment because the recipe arrived in DA blue.

What is this thing, my leader? Is it a ­Government of National Unity or a political Airbnb where parties rearrange the furniture between check-in and check-out?
I do not blame Geordin entirely. He is young, ambitious and clearly in a hurry. The boy has watched South African politics long enough to know that patience is where careers go to die. In this khawtry, if you do not announce yourself loudly, someone older, slower and more confused will appoint a commission to study your silence.
So, he moved. Boldly. Publicly. With the confidence of a man who has looked at the Union Buildings and thought: “Nice place. Needs a DA accent wall.”

Different strokes

When the ANC does it, it is cadre deployment. When the DA does it, it is reform architecture. When MK does it, it is family discipline. When the EFF does it, it is revolutionary clarity. When the Gupta Republic watches it all, we call it Tuesday.

Still, you, my leader, are expected to look presidential as others give you instructions.
South Africa is no longer a country. It is a badly chaired family meeting. Yet our politicians are busy with internal purges, public tantrums, Cabinet reshuffles, factional hygiene and family excommunications.

Perhaps this is why South Africans laugh so much, my leader. Not because things are funny, but because sanity needs somewhere to park.

Still, I must confess: MK firing DuduZille is an achievement. It takes courage for the Zuma party to discipline Zuma. It is like a lion issuing a vegetarian manifesto. It may not last, but for one glorious moment, the jungle paused.

As for Geordin, let the young man dream. Today, he reshuffles ministers. Tomorrow, he may redesign the Union Buildings, rename the Cabinet “Team Blue South Africa” and introduce a performance dashboard using Cape Town’s Table Mountain fires as the national benchmark. If it burns fiercely, it governs efficiently.

My leader, govern while you still can. Otherwise, by next week, someone’s nephew may announce your new Cabinet on TikTok.

Till next week, my man. In this khawtry, even absurdity is now asking for leave. DM

Bhekisisa Mncube is an author, columnist and manuscript assessor for a leading South African publisher.