The "Here" and the "Hereafter"
My most extraordinary encounter during the recent election campaign took place at OR Tambo airport 3 days before the polls on 18 May. I had just arrived in Johannesburg from Port Elizabeth (Nelson Mandela Metro), after my 5th campaign visit there. A middle-aged man, who had been on the same flight, approached me. He grasped my hand and pulled me towards him. In a voice shaking with emotion he said: Helen, the DA MUST win Port Elizabeth. You MUST!
I replied that we stood a good chance if every DA supporter went out to vote. I then expressed the hope that he would return to PE in time to vote on May 18. Without batting an eyelid, he replied: "I don't vote, I pray".
"What's stopping you from doing both?" I asked, struggling to retain my composure.
"Prayer is more powerful than voting," he replied.
"I also believe in the power of prayer", I told him. "But I presume in this case, you are praying that enough people in PE will go out and vote DA? If they don't, we can't win. And, anyway, why should they vote when you won't?"
"You don't understand", he said, in a tone that told me he was closing down the conversation.
He was right. I didn't understand. As I left, I said I hoped his prayers would be sufficient to pull us through. Three days later, the ANC won PE by 2%.
I thought of this interaction again, when I listened to SA's beloved Archbishop Desmond Tutu venting his fury at the government over its refusal to grant a visa to the Dalai Lama to attend his long-time friend's 80th birthday celebration.
Waving his finger, the Arch said: "The day will come when we will pray for the downfall of this government. I am warning you!" His words "trended" on Twitter in no time. So I added my two-cents worth: "Pray by all means, but vote too."
When I saw the Arch 36 hours later at St George's Cathedral during the launch the magnificent Festschrift in his honour, I wished him a happy birthday. We spoke briefly and referring to the Dalai Lama, I repeated my Tweet.
After laughing uproariously, he became pensive. "Point taken," he replied. The point is simply this: In a constitutional democracy, voters get the government the majority voted for. Only voters have the power to change this, through their vote. If they keep voting the same people into power, they shouldn't complain. If they don't vote, they have no right to complain.
Of course, the vote is not the only option open to active citizens: they can lobby, they can expose corruption, they can write articles in the media and talk on radio; they can petition the courts or the Chapter 9 institutions; they can join one of the many excellent civil society organisations. But in the end, all these worthy efforts don't add up to a row of beans unless people are also prepared to change their government through the ballot box.
If a government can rely on being voted back into power "until Jesus comes back" irrespective of what they do, other constitutional mechanisms inevitably become toothless bulldogs on their political master's leash.
I make this point every day, in countless different ways, in answer to questions on Twitter. People always want the DA to govern where we lost the election. I keep explaining why we can't. But this blind-spot is not the preserve of lay people. Some of the most experienced politicians and activists make similar mistakes.
A few weeks ago, I joined a protest march to Parliament against the "Secrecy Bill" led by the Right2Know campaign. Former Intelligence Minister Ronnie Kasrils was among the speakers. Describing himself as a loyal member of the ANC and SA Communist Party, he urged every democratic South African to oppose the Bill. He warned that it was merely a fig-leaf to cover up corruption by greedy "tenderpreneurs". Using the metaphor of the family, he said: if your mother or your father do something wrong, it is not disloyal to tell them so.
Warm and fuzzy words. But the family metaphor fails to illustrate the appropriate relationship between individuals and political parties in a constitutional democracy. The remedy for power abuse is not undying loyalty (even if under protest). The remedy is the counter-power of the vote. Eternal loyalty to an abusive government is like feeding steaks to the proverbial crocodile in the hope that it will become vegetarian.
Another famous activist at the march, Zackie Achmat, was in no mood for family metaphors. On the contrary, he warned the government that if the Bill was passed, he would urge civil disobedience. People would "fill the jails" rather than bow to censorship -- just as they had done under apartheid, he thundered.
But South Africa of 2011 is not the apartheid South Africa of the 1980s. We now have a Constitution. Everyone has inalienable freedoms, entrenched in a Bill of Rights. If a law violates the Constitution it should be legally challenged. But unless they are set aside by the courts, it is everyone's duty to abide by laws passed by a democratically elected government. If citizens reject these laws, they have all the power they need to change them -- through their vote. The alternative is anarchy.
The most bizarre form occurs when people stage violent protests against their councillors, just weeks after voting them into office!
Many well-meaning citizens would rather go down anarchy alley than use the power of their vote. They still believe the ANC can save South Africa from the ANC. This is a pipe-dream. Pretending otherwise is to put South Africa's democracy in mortal danger.
This article by Helen Zille first appeared in SA Today, the weekly online newsletter of the leader of the Democratic Alliance.
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