Never have I ever come near considering a dictatorship a political solution to a country’s ills but seeing the councils’ coalition partners and parliament’s dishonourable members playing silly buggers, it’s worth the thought.
How would an intelligent, fair-minded dictator, like me, handle the shenanigans witnessed daily? First off, I’d enter these halls of power wielding a cat-o’-nine-tails for effect, not necessarily for lashing nincompoops for nondelivery or slackness. Or having been caught with filthy fingers in the cookie jar. Or sexual abuse. But it might just be the ticket for keeping elected officials in line.
Before taking my place at the podium, I’d make big play hooking the whip under my portrait on the wall. There again, symbolism indicative of who is in charge. And pasop! There’s only one item on the agenda at my sittings. Members report on their activities among the electorate and what goals they’ve achieved in service delivery.
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Like broken pumps preventing water reaching communities; or negligence in picking up rubbish; or nonpayment to Eskom for electricity. I’d want to know how they fill their time for which they are afforded healthy packages.
Oh, no time for time-wasting “on a point of order” from opportunists who love their voices. Whether or not I’m satisfied with their reports is indicated by the times I turn my eyes toward the whip. Thrice means they’re in for a drubbing. Or firing.
So, it’s obvious I’ll not tolerate screaming matches, or immature exchanges like: “I’m the mayor!” “No you’re not, I’ve been elected legitimately.” “No you weren’t. The vote was rigged.” Just my glance at the cat-o’ would’ve been noted, the parties immediately desisting and taking their seats.
Had I taken over the presidency after the dreadful regime of corporate Gupta/Zuma, I would’ve made short shrift of the rotten apples on the NEC and Cabinet, as well as having a harsh word or two with the judiciary to show more teeth in cases of those accused of state capture and tender fiddling.
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At the moment, the bench comes across weak and woolly. Zuma’s ducking and diving for two decades is ample example. This would never happen. Unluckily, a lazy heart, porky aorta valve and disintegrating lower back, won’t make the cut. But I’ll happily donate the whip.
