Mbeki and the art of listening
Anton Harber
1 August 2007President Thabo Mbeki had his head down, listening intently to the speaker at a new drug rehabilitation centre in the Western Cape and taking detailed notes. Suddenly, he looked up and asked: "What is tik?"
The question had everyone sucking in air. Where had the President been? Every newspaper has been reporting extensively on the scourge of the region. Could he possibly have never heard of it, or was he just asking for a fuller explanation of the drug?
Cape Town Mayor Helen Zille, also on the platform, asked to speak as soon as possible after that, and gave the President a detailed and well-informed exposition of the history, pharmacology, physiology and sociology of the drug. With consummate political skill, she was contrasting her command of the subject with all the others in the room.
A few minutes later, Mbeki took command. Called upon to say a few words, he summoned back a rehabilitated youngster who had read a poem and asked him to detail how he had got into drugs and crime. He asked the ANC provincial chair to come forward and tell what his party was doing about the drug problem. It was slightly out of order, as this was a government Imbizo and not a party-political platform, but the President insisted.
The ANC chair had nothing to say, mumbling how he had come to listen. Later, Mbeki said that part of the problem was that ANC branches were more concerned with things like elections than problems. It was a stinging put-down.
Political theatre at its best
This recent Presidential Imbizo [it took place over the weekend of 21 and 22 July] was political theatre at its best.
It was a grand performance that moved from this small briefing, to a larger meeting of community representatives, through the launch of a corporate project that grew out of the last such Imbizo, to a mass meeting where at least 8 000 people clamoured to ask questions of the President and members of his Cabinet.
To call it theatre is not to put it down. This kind of performance is a part of any democracy, and the Imbizo is a most unusual, and quite extraordinary, form of public interaction. It is part a meet-the-people and part an opportunity to call local government to account for service delivery. I can think of no other country where it happens in this open and engaging form.
Mbeki himself goes out of his way to give the event substance. He is attentive and responsive. There are scribes taking down every issue raised for follow-up and there are full minutes of the previous imbizo so the President can monitor what has been done since then.
Local and provincial officials are in trepidation for the closed meeting at the end of the Imbizo in which they will have to account for their activities, and in which Mbeki is known to lambaste laggards.
Bursting through the bubble
To be in the media contingent trailing the
President's entourage is to get a sense of the bubble in which he has to live. At every venue, curious locals press at the fence. As the security men race the convoy through streets cleared of other traffic, people gape from a distance.
Mbeki himself tries to burst through the bubble every now and then. When a crowd at the fence during the corporate event can't hear him speak, he startles the organizers by asking for the gate to be opened to let them in. He walks over to talk to people waiting outside a venue, but his security detail battles to keep things under control. Besides, he has a tight agenda and needs to get to the next meeting.
When a tall businessman takes the stage, the President jumps up to adjust the microphone. When Zille gets an unfriendly reception, he gives her a hug. It is a show of humility and charm.
In the smaller gatherings, Mbeki is in control. Less so in the big meeting, which is inevitably more chaotic. Everyone wants a turn to speak, and only about 40 get their chance. The questions are tough, sometimes angry.
Mbeki makes his ministers answer queries, but when he takes the stand he struggles to connect to the crowd. His message, as always, is earnest - that people must be realistic about what to expect from the government - and tough to convey.
As the crowd file out, one has to wonder if their view of government is changed. Are they thankful at the chance to hear their leaders? Or frustrated at a few hours in which only a few got to speak. Have they enjoyed the theatre? Indeed, do they see it as theatre, or real democracy?
For me it was a bit of both, but much more important is what the crowd will say about it.
Anton Harber is Caxton Professor of Journalism at Wits University in Johannesburg. This article was first published in Business Day. Republished here with kind permission from the author.
