S'THEMBISO MSOMI | Time to reclaim an old slogan to demand a new brand of politics and power to the people

There is a political slogan that is repeated so often at political gatherings and funerals that it risks losing its meaning.

“Matla ke a rena. Amandla ngawethu. Power to the people.”

The slogan is almost as old as the modern phase of the anti-colonial struggle itself that period beginning at the end of the 1800s when the then-emerging African intelligentsia began to use Western forms of politics to push back against the creation of a British-controlled Union of South Africa that racially excluded the majority of the region’s inhabitants.

Throughout that period and all through to the political breakthrough that resulted in the democratic elections and the creation of a nonracial nation in 1994, the slogan became a rallying cry – whether one was a Charterist, an Africanist, an adherent of the Black Consciousness philosophy, an outright Marxist or a political moderate.

The brilliance of the slogan, it is often said, is in its simplicity. Yet it contained a powerful message, one that essentially says our fate as a people is in our hands and nobody else’s.

In the days of mobilising against colonial conquest and the resultant racist policies, it meant that change would only come when the victims of oppression themselves rose against the system, that it would not be gifted to them by the oppressor on a platter.

It also meant that no government could claim legitimacy and credibility without being installed in power through the will of the people. So, for much of the period between 1910 and 1994, the central demand of the liberation Struggle was that of universal suffrage.

But even that right was not seen as a right merely for its own sake. It was seen as a means through which, in a democratic society, the people – through their public representatives – could transform their living conditions for the better.

Politics, in other words, was not seen as just a game for the elites, but a vehicle through which lives could be positively affected.

In the earliest years of the political breakthrough, it seemed we were living up to the slogan – albeit not at a speed the majority would have liked or expected.

Citizens went out in great numbers to vote and, in return, the elected public representatives devoted much of their time and effort to passing legislation that repealed formal apartheid, created a single public education system, ensured access to social grants and so on.

New state schools were built in areas that were ignored and neglected before and new bridges were constructed to connect black rural villages with nearby towns whose amenities were previously assumed to be the sole preserve of whites.

Politics, in other words, had meaning. People were seeing their power, exercised through the vote, bringing real change to their lives. This was not perfect, but we seemed to be moving forward.

And then the cancer of corruption started spreading through the body politics, with a growing number of politicians at national, provincial and local levels seeing their election to public office as an opportunity to enrich themselves.

Amandla increasingly became theirs, rather than ours. Our votes empowered them to negotiate lucrative deals for themselves with other crooked politicians and corrupt companies that received state tenders and contracts in return for kickbacks to politicians.

As a result, service delivery suffered. Some major projects aimed at uplifting the lives of the majority stalled, infrastructure development became uneven and economic growth became a pipe dream.

Scandal after scandal slowly eroded our trust in the politicians, and as the cancer seemed to spread across political allegiances, we started to sing along with jazz artist Mandisi Dyantyis: “Ziyafana zonke, zingamaxoki zonke. Ziyafana zonke zingama menemene zonke.”

In essence, we concluded that all these parties are the same – they lie to get our votes only for politicians to line their pockets. And so, increasing numbers of eligible voters no longer bother to vote as a form of power to better their lives.

But opting out of wielding this power only benefits those who have historically used the power to keep the majority on the periphery as suppliers of cheap labour.

Amandla becomes theirs again, and they will not use it to benefit the majority.

However, instead of walking away, we should be inspired by the slogan to demand a new brand of politics from political parties and their leaders.

Reward those who are making the effort by voting them into office, and punish those who work against our common interests by withholding our votes from them.

Maybe they, too, would be reminded that – in the final analysis – Amandla ngawethu – belongs to the people and not them.