Chronicle of a Possibility (part 1)

A serialized “what if” about one plausible direction of South African politics

“Imagine change, even if the change is not what you want to see”: a mentor challenged me to do that for South Africa.

What follows is the result, drawing on articles stretching back to South Africa’s late-Zuma years, the last elections and the Ramaphosa economy, and the onset of the pandemic. Instead of the analytical style of prior writings, what follows is a story, told as if it had already happened. The full narrative is too long for a publication, and too short for a book, so I’m going to experiment and publish it in pieces. This is part one of six. The remainder will be posted here on Medium, and will go out via Substack. The future installments will be weekly.

South Africa’s new President was until recently a marginal figure. He had gained some notoriety as the organizer of a few community safety groups. Those who attended large Pentecostal and charismatic church gatherings knew of his striking oratory and his warm relations with most of the “stadium” pastors. But few had expected him, or the political party he founded merely two years ago, to be the principal beneficiary of the ANC’s collapse. Most observers expected the old opposition parties and the ANC’s two or three larger breakaways to pick up most of the votes spilling from the old ruling party. To some extent, they did. But the new President captured his share too — and, decisively, he and his African People’s Movement (APM) captured the votes that spilled from the ANC five years ago, and ten years ago, and fifteen years ago, as well as so many of the new cohorts who would never have voted otherwise.

Perhaps it should have been obvious. The incompetence of the Ramaphosa administration gave way to the corruption of the Mabuza administration, and neither found any way out of the post-Covid economic depression. By the time Ramaphosa fell the forces that had supported him in 2016 were exhausted or departed. One more ANC splinter party formed, but with the same amount of energy that had characterized the Ramaphosa administration itself. Coalitions formed and broke apart seemingly at random, one secret ballot at a time. As the national elections loomed there was much speculation about which of the multiplying number of possible coalitions might take power, and whether the fiscal crisis, continually averted, would finally land before or after voting day. In those calculations the APM was not ignored, but was considered a second-string player, whose support would be bid for by the rump ANC, breakaway ANC, EFF, new DA, or another larger party, and which would be swiftly relegated to obscure social policy battles while the main crisis centred on the budget.

Then, early this year, election season started. Unnoticed by most commentators, the APM’s leader had already started work months earlier, when most of the popular Pentecostal preachers invited him to address their Christmas services. In two days, he appeared at four different stadiums, addressing almost fifty thousand people at a time. He spoke at length about his personal redemption, of being lost and returning to God, and connected his story to the falling away and recovery of the nation. He spoke about a Constitution that did not acknowledge God, despite all the submissions from a believing nation asking the Constitution’s drafters to acknowledge Him and he decried the judges that allowed sin and denied justice. In the second week of the new year the APM held demonstrations in all nine provinces, of varying strength, demanding the reform of the police, the “elimination” of criminals and corrupt politicians, and the return of moral values. The anti-crime (now being called “vigilante”) groups and the churches provided the core of these protests, but the marches in Johannesburg and Port Elizabeth were far larger than even the organizers seemed to expect.

Placards held aloft showed amusing cartoons of fat policemen and politicians snapping the ropes around their necks by their bulk. The same cartoons had radiated out from anti-crime and church-based WhatsApp groups. At the Joburg protest the speakers made a few outlandish statements that drew roars from the crowd and were duly reported, though briefly. In late January, the APM won an old ANC stronghold in Johannesburg by a large margin, and that too was noticed, briefly. But the leaders of the other parties paid little attention. They were focused primarily on each other and the rating agencies and the exchange rate, as was the media. Then in early February the APM content going out on WhatsApp surged, and began to flood the various forms of social media. Some appeared on Twitter, where it was reported. Some appeared on TikTok, including a “fat policeman” song and a borderline homophobic one featuring a judge, a politician, and a criminal singing acapella (both were banned by TikTok, but reappeared quickly).

By far the largest amount of content went out over WhatsApp, spreading quickly from group to group. The images were funny or outrageous in turn, but almost never overtly political, and were distributed in a decentralized, adaptive way: APM supporters could use whatever content they wanted, however they wanted, but the goal was always the same, to convert any social WhatsApp groups (neighbourhood groups or ones for work or extended family) to APM-leaning groups. While the other parties of course had their own WhatsApp groups, those were explicitly political, and so provided no new recruits. On the contrary, many of those groups were riven with factional battles and so turned away even existing supporters. Provided with a river of content by the APM’s campaign, its activists were invariably successful in aligning thousands of groups across the country. There were even stories of the WhatsApp groups used for spreading pornography being turned. Of course, there were howls about the hypocrisy of a movement that talked so much of sin and Godly morals being marketed in pornography groups, but none of the members cared.

In reporting by the handful of journalists who still went out to the field, a similar story started recurring. People who, five or ten years ago, said “we are not voting, all they ever want is our vote, we are not giving it to them anymore”, now enthusiastically said they were going to vote for the APM. “He is going to lock them up! Like his guys here took care of those young boys”. “I saw the cartoons and he is going to hang them! With extra strength rope”. “I joined one of their groups, they are teaching us on WhatsApp how to make a case against this corrupt councilor, they are going to throw her in jail soon!”.

Julius Malema tried to respond belatedly by declaring that he would also support hanging corrupt politicians. On national TV, the APM’s leader responded by laughing at Malema in person and asking if he would then hang himself — then before Malema could answer said, “I guess not, unless the rope was made of Gucci”. Malema stood up in anger, as if to fight. The APM leader, a tall man, just stood up himself and walked up to Malema and stared down at him. Malema stalked off, and the clip went viral. Within hours a clip was circulating of Malema trying to buy a piece of rope with the Louis Vuitton initials sewn into its length.

Around the same time, late February to early March, two other developments occurred. … (to be continued)

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