Simon Carr - The South African present: Grievance theatre vs. accountability
Key topics:
Blame culture deflects from urgent governance failures.
South Africa’s history is complex - no group is wholly innocent.
Symbolic justice must not replace real accountability and reform.
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By Simon Carr*
This is not a serious call for justice. It's symbolic theatre—a performance that allows politicians to deflect from their current failures by pointing to ancient crimes. It allows perpetual grievance activists to stay relevant. And it allows governments and institutions to virtue signal without fixing a single pothole.
And in South Africa, that grievance theatre—the ongoing public performance of victimhood and historical outrage—plays out in far more personal ways. In a society where President Ramaphosa can chuckle at Malema’s “Kill the Boer” rallying cry, one must ask: who gets to be a victim, and who gets laughed at?
Every Group’s History: No One Is Innocent
We even saw it in parody—like the 1980s washing powder advert, where an Afrikaner shoots a British soldier waving a dirty white flag because, in the joke, “the flag was dirty.”
Then there are the real, structured horrors: British concentration camps during the Anglo-Boer War—terrible indeed—but rarely is it told that there were also separate, even harsher camps for Black Africans, who died in their thousands, unsung, unremembered. History isn’t one-sided. Black Africans were also armed and recruited by both British and Boer forces, fighting and dying in a war whose legacy they still bear, yet are seldom remembered for.
Let’s talk about that history: The Bantu migrations reshaped this land, just as the Mfecane/Difaqane scattered, conquered, and displaced. Key players—Dingiswayo, Shaka Zulu, Zwide kaLanga, Senzangakhona, Matiwane, Mzilikazi, Zwengendaba, Queen MaNthatisi—reshaped southern Africa through warfare, diplomacy, and massive forced migrations.
Overlay this with the Frontier Wars (1779–1879), a century-long series of brutal conflicts between the Xhosa and colonial settlers. These wars culminated in the murder of King Sandile, the Xhosa king, in 1878—an act that marked the final destruction of Xhosa independence. Add to this the Cattle Killing of 1856–1857, a national tragedy in which the Xhosa, acting on prophetic visions, slaughtered their own herds in hopes of divine intervention, resulting in famine and the death of tens of thousands.
The Anglo-Zulu War of 1879 is often remembered for the iconic battles of Isandlwana (22 January 1879), where the Zulu army inflicted a devastating defeat on British forces, and Rorke’s Drift (22–23 January 1879), where a small British garrison famously held out against overwhelming odds. These battles are regularly commemorated, yet the many other clashes, such as Ntombe, Hlobane, Gingindlovu, and Ulundi—and the countless Zulu and British lives lost on both sides are rarely acknowledged in public memory.
After the British victory, the Zulu kingdom was deliberately dismantled: King Cetshwayo was exiled, the Zulu monarchy was broken up, and the land was divided among compliant chiefs. This act of colonial engineering shattered the political and social fabric of Zululand, sowing divisions and weakening traditional authority—a legacy whose repercussions are still felt in KwaZulu-Natal’s politics and society today.
All of this unfolded against the backdrop of the near-erasure of the Khoekhoen and San peoples, whose sophisticated societies predated both the Bantu migrations and European colonisation. Their decimation—through disease, dispossession, and violence—remains a foundational injustice, rarely discussed in mainstream discourse. Yet even their history is not without complexity. Some Khoekhoe clans allied with Dutch settlers to gain an advantage over rivals, participating in raids and reprisals. Certain San groups likewise engaged in cattle raiding and sporadic conflict, sometimes forming uneasy alliances with colonial forces against common enemies. Though overwhelmingly victims of extermination and displacement, the Khoekhoe and San were also actors—capable of strategy, alliance, and, at times, violence. They, too, were caught in the harsh logic of survival, where innocence was a luxury few could afford.
History’s commemorations often favour the dramatic or the victorious, but true reckoning demands we remember the full scale of loss, complexity, and shared culpability that shaped this land.
Every group—Zulu, Tswana, Xhosa, Afrikaner, Briton—has spilled blood, seized land, or benefited from another’s fall. Every group has built something. Every group has destroyed something. Until we all recognise our horrible histories—without judging them by today’s moral standards—we will stay stuck.
So, When Does the Blame-Name Game Stop?
Despite the complexity and shared culpability of our past, the blame-name game continues. When does it end? How many more generations must be defined by grievances centuries old?
And yet, we are debating reparations for slavery, centuries removed.
This tendency to deflect, to refuse engagement, and to weaponize history is not new. Consider the rhetorical retorts that have become part of our political theatre:
Mugabe to Tony Blair: “You keep your England, I’ll keep my Zimbabwe.”
Ramaphosa to Trump: “You keep your USA, and I’ll keep my South Africa.”
When British political donor Arron Banks suggested South Africa needed a party that “actually builds schools and fixes roads,” DA Mayor Chris Pappas replied, echoing Mugabe: “You keep your England, and we’ll run South Africa.”
The pattern continues. In 2025, Pappas sparked further debate with a blunt social media post:
“If you ask for help and have the ANC, EFF, or MK as your profile picture (PP), don’t expect an answer. I serve all our people, but please don’t insult my intelligence and then come to the DA for help. I’m not a girlfriend you flirt with when you want something but are never committed to marrying.”
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The message is clear: in our current climate, political identity is worn as both shield and weapon, and even basic service delivery becomes entangled in public displays of loyalty, suspicion, and grievance. This is precisely the kind of entrenched, performative blame culture that keeps genuine dialogue—and genuine solutions—out of reach.
This is not to diminish Pappas’s achievements or energy. But when history is treated as partisan currency, even good intentions risk becoming bad leadership.
No discussion. No counterargument. No engagement. Just umbrage—as if asking a question was an insult. Ask a foreigner for an opinion, and if it’s not liked, the response is often to go on the defensive, shift away from the subject at hand, or attack the point and person as irrelevant.
This attitude is not new. It has deep roots in our history, where selective memory and political spite have long been used to erase inconvenient truths and silence dissent.
Erased Heroes, Selective Memory
Consider the fate of WWII fighter ace Sailor Malan. Celebrated as a hero in the Commonwealth, he returned to South Africa and led the Torch Commando, a liberal anti-apartheid movement of WWII veterans. For this, the apartheid government erased his memory, denied him a military funeral, and forbade military personnel from attending his burial in uniform. A man who fought fascism abroad was censored at home—his memory buried not by time, but by deliberate political spite.
Today, we see similar attempts to control the historical narrative—not by erasing it, but by flattening it into political currency.
A Brief Timeline: The Trauma of Transition
To understand the weight of recent history—and the dangers of forgetting—consider the tumultuous years leading to democracy:
1991: Repeal of apartheid laws, National Peace Accord, CODESA negotiations, and “third force” violence.
1992: Whites-only referendum for reform, Bisho and Boipatong massacres, Goldstone Commission on political violence.
1993: Chris Hani assassination, mass unrest, Mandela’s unifying leadership, AWB storming of the World Trade Centre.
1994: Bophuthatswana crisis, KwaZulu-Natal unrest, first democratic elections, Mandela’s presidency.
All of this transpired while Pappas was still a child, far removed from the chaos, sacrifice, and national trauma—yet he now speaks with authority, often using history as a blunt tool to promote his party's narrative. Such confidence is possible only when selective memory becomes the norm.
The ANC’s 30-Year Record: Present-Day Failures
For three decades, the ANC has governed with the promise of righting historical wrongs. Yet, the invocation of historical grievance too often serves as a smokescreen for present-day failures—failures that are the direct responsibility of those in power now.
Case Studies: Unmet Promises and Policy Failures
Land reform: The government remains the largest landowner. Title deeds are not transferred, and productive land lies fallow. Many claimants prefer compensation, but the process is slow and riddled with corruption.
Eskom and energy crisis: Persistent loadshedding, mismanagement, and corruption have crippled the economy and daily life.
Education: Over 3,000 schools still rely on pit latrines; at least four children have drowned in them since 2014. Literacy rates remain shockingly low.
Healthcare: Failing hospitals, medicine shortages, and a lack of basic services plague the public health system.
Corruption and state capture: Billions lost to graft, from the arms deal to PPE procurement during COVID-19, with little accountability.
The cycles of blame and deflection in South Africa are nothing new—history repeats itself in ever more modern forms. Meanwhile, while elected and unelected politicians—mayors, councillors, and their counterparts in civil society—tweet, WhatsApp, blame, deflect, chant, counter-narrate, accuse, and insult with theatrical indignation, the blame game has become deeply entrenched across society as a whole. From boardrooms to street corners, from social media feeds to family gatherings, this culture of finger-pointing and grievance dominates discourse. Yet, amid all this noise, South Africa continues to face present-day horrors—rising crime, failing infrastructure, and social decay—that demand urgent, collective action rather than endless blame. And dare I imply that we are all to blame?
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Statistics Paint a Grim Picture
South Africa’s social challenges extend far beyond headline crime statistics. The social fabric is fraying under the weight of reported and unreported horrors, especially gender-based violence (GBV):
Between January and June 2024, 12,734 people were murdered in South Africa, averaging 70 murders per day. The overall murder rate stands at approximately 42 per 100,000 people.
Although there was a 9.8% decrease in murder cases between October and December 2024 compared to the same period in 2023, nearly 76 people were still murdered each day.
Gender-based violence remains a national crisis. In the last quarter of 2024 alone, 11,803 rape cases were reported, a slight decline from 12,211 in the same period in 2023. However, experts warn that the true scale is far larger due to widespread underreporting driven by stigma, fear, and distrust of the justice system. In 2022/23, over 53,000 sexual offences were reported, but the real number is believed to be much higher (SAPS Annual Report).
Thousands of babies are abandoned annually, often in unsafe conditions, reflecting deep social distress. The National Adoption Coalition of South Africa estimates up to 3,500 babies are abandoned each year (TimesLIVE, 2023).
The harrowing case of Joslyn Smith, a six-year-old girl from Saldanha Bay sold by her parents, who were sentenced to life imprisonment, highlights the extreme vulnerabilities faced by children and the urgent need for stronger protection and intervention (News24, March 2024).
The prevalence of GBV and child abuse reflects systemic social issues that demand urgent, coordinated government and civil society responses. Despite progressive laws, the persistence of gender-based violence and child abuse is rooted in weak law enforcement, social stigma, poverty, and a justice system that too often fails victims. Until these systemic issues are addressed, South Africa’s children and women will remain at risk (Children’s Institute, UCT).
The carnage on South Africa’s national roads is another ongoing tragedy. In the 2023/24 festive season alone, over 1,400 people lost their lives in road accidents, with annual fatalities often exceeding 12,000. Reckless driving, unroadworthy vehicles, and poor enforcement contribute to one of the highest road death rates in the world. Each year, thousands of families are shattered by preventable crashes, adding to the nation’s burden of trauma and loss.
(Source: Road Traffic Management Corporation, 2024; TimesLIVE, Jan 2024)
These figures only scratch the surface of the lived realities faced by many South Africans. Behind every statistic is a human story—one of trauma, loss, and the urgent need for effective, compassionate action.
The Limits of Symbolic Justice
Memorials and apologies matter. They help us remember. But they cannot replace honest governance, functional infrastructure, or real opportunity. South Africans deserve leaders who deliver, not just those who deflect.
Justice Beyond Blame: A Path Forward
True justice means holding today’s government to account—demanding transparency, delivery, and an end to corruption. We honour our past not by blaming it endlessly, but by building a future worthy of those who suffered before us.
Proposed Solutions:
Accelerate title deed transfers and support for land reform beneficiaries.
Invest in education and healthcare infrastructure.
Establish independent anti-corruption bodies with real power.
Prioritise community-driven reconciliation and social cohesion programmes.
Ensure that governance is a civic duty, not a career path for the power-hungry.
History over and over again warns us of the dangers of mob rule and the need for wisdom, humility, and justice in leadership.
Let us honour the past by refusing to let it be used as an excuse for present-day failure. Let us demand that our government fix what is broken now, not just retell stories of what was broken then.
*Simon Carr has lived in South Africa for 35 years, spending 10 years working in Johannesburg’s retail sector. Currently, he resides in the Western Cape, where he is involved in a restoration farming project. A keen reader of history, passionate about South Africa and its people.