MALAIKA MAHLATSI | In a normal country, Ramaphosa would have resigned

“… I therefore respectfully want to make it clear that I will not resign …”

These were the words uttered by President Cyril Ramaphosa on Monday evening in his address to the nation in response to the recent ruling by the Constitutional Court.

A week ago, the highest court in the land ruled that the National Assembly had acted unconstitutionally and unlawfully when it blocked a Section 89 inquiry into Ramaphosa’s conduct regarding the 2020 Phala Phala farm theft.

This invalidates the 2022 parliamentary vote in which the ANC parliamentary caucus used its majority to vote against adopting the Section 89 independent panel report which originally found that Ramaphosa had a case to answer regarding the theft of millions of rand at his farm.

Leading up to the vote, the ANC’s national executive committee (NEC) had resolved to back Ramaphosa and instructed its MPs to vote against the report. The recent ruling by the apex court has compelled parliament to re-evaluate the independent panel report and refer it to an impeachment committee for a full inquiry.

Following the ruling, opposition parties and some sections of society have called for Ramaphosa’s resignation. The address on Monday evening was to respond to this growing public pressure. It was a show of what the president and ANC members deem as strength and confidence.

And in some ways, it was, because Ramaphosa knows what many of us know: that the impeachment is highly unlikely to be successful. The ANC, though not a governing party anymore, still wields sufficient numbers in parliament to prevent an impeachment, which requires a two-thirds majority.

With the exception of the DA, it is unlikely that other members of the government of national unity would vote to remove a president who has appointed a cabinet that includes leaders of these parties.

When the ANC released a statement positing that the Constitutional Court ruling was on the parliamentary process rather than the merits of the case or the guilt of the president, it was making a technically correct argument.

But the issue is not about whether or not the president committed or aided a crime. It is not even about whether his actions were ethical or not. What the issue is really about is what the ruling has done to the moral standing of the president as an individual and the Presidency as an institution.

It is about how the president having a cloud of this nature hanging over his head deepens the erosion of public trust in his leadership and, in many ways, in the democratic project itself.

In many parts of the world, both in the Global North and South, leaders have resigned from their positions over this loss of public trust because they understand its impact on the legitimacy of democracy.

When former Romanian president Klaus Iohannis resigned last year, it was not over a legal judgment, but because he recognised how rising public dissatisfaction could create a political crisis.

When former British prime minister Rishi Sunak resigned, it was because he had lost the confidence of the public. Recently, California Democratic Representative Eric Swalwell resigned from Congress and suspended his campaign for California governor following sexual misconduct and assault allegations from multiple women.

No court has found him guilty, but he recognised that he had lost the public’s trust. Sri Lanka’s former president, Gotabaya Rajapaksa, resigned following massive protests over a corruption scandal involving a friend.

Former prime minister of Nepal, KP Sharma Oli, resigned following violent, youth-led protests across the nation. The list is endless. None of these cases had to do with the leaders being found guilty of a crime, they had to do with leaders recognising that the loss of public support and the dark cloud over them pose a moral question significant enough to warrant a resignation.

They recognised that such loss of trust is not just a stain, but an assault on democracy itself. In a normal society, Ramaphosa would have understood this and resigned.

In SA, moral credibility means nothing, so no one ever resigns for ethical and moral reasons. They would rather plunge the country into ethical nightmares.