“Sundibuza ngenyani kuphakwa,” one ANC Youth League leader once told me.
That was more than 10 years ago, at the height of divisions in the party’s Nelson Mandela Bay region. We were talking about his party’s criteria for nomination to public office.
I was inquiring about what looked like a nomination process that wasn’t guided by an honest evaluation of candidates.
Individuals were simply nominated without any care for competence.
To his credit, my youthful interlocutor acknowledged the importance of merit for public office but quickly pointed out that it was never ideal to raise the subject during the disbursement of spoils: “Sundibuza ngenyani kuphakwa!”
Such uncomfortable questions could just lead to one being overlooked for employment (or deployment).
Frankly, competence has been an uncomfortable subject right from the start of the democratic conversation.
A common refrain among comrades in the mid-1990s, just as the democratic government took form, was: "Sasingabuzwa nge-qualifications ngoku sasi-murwa ngamabhulu" [we were never asked for qualifications when the police were beating us up].
Comrades found it unfair that, when life normalised and people had to secure proper employment, there were suddenly questions about qualifications.
The sensitivity was understandable.
Many political activists lacked certificates.
Some of those who had quit school for exile in the 1970s went strictly for military training and never furthered their studies.
Of those who were imprisoned, others never returned to school.
It took some courage for activists, after imprisonment and school boycotts, to return to a classroom.
Yet, there were expectations that they should provide for their families.
Expectations were even higher on those who returned from exile.
They were welcomed back as heroes, whose return was expected to change family fortunes.
It was unimaginable that people who had surrendered their lives to free their country would not find employment at independence.
And so, the bloated bureaucracy that was inherited from the several Bantustans and the republic was never quite reduced.
Political activists were just employed without much consideration for competence.
On the political front, however, a much firmer stance was attempted.
The ANC’s 1997 conference approved a separate criterion for leadership in the party, on the one hand, and for government, on the other.
For government, technical skills were to be a prerequisite, while for the party popularity with the rank-and-file was considered sufficient.
Leadership in the party didn’t necessarily qualify one for a position in government.
Someone with appropriate skills, from outside the party leadership, could be appointed to lead the government.
The Mafikeng resolution worked well in some provinces, and not so well in others.
It failed where there was just too much local resistance, such as in the Free State.
Provincial leaders wouldn’t accept national nominees to lead government.
Conversely, in the Western Cape and Gauteng, for instance, national nominees worked well with provincial leaders.
Mbhazima Shilowa distinguished himself as premier of Gauteng, with the firm support of the provincial chair, Paul Mashatile.
A former trade unionist, Shilowa may have lacked advanced educational qualifications, but has political nous and is generally suave.
He understood how the sophisticated economy of Johannesburg functioned and was comfortable in the company of the key stakeholders that make up Gauteng.
In other words, the ANC’s recent proposal to look outside the pool of party leaders for government positions is not entirely new.
It’s a familiar practice but was an unfortunate casualty of a bitter power struggle that consumed the party in the late 2000s.
Newly elected leaders, after their victory at the Polokwane conference, were just too impatient to access the spoils of office.
They deliberately slandered the practice of appointing leaders that were fit for purpose as promoting two centres of power, to make way for their quick ascent.
The demands and insight required for running a city, province or country are drastically different to running a political party.
For starters, one needs to behave as a public leader, not a party leader.
A public leader knows that a city is made up of several publics, all of which are critical to the health of that city.
The interests of organised business are just as important as those of ordinary folks in the township.
A lively economy is central to any society.
A mayor, especially one elected by workers and poor people, should be the champion of the local economy.
Business provides both employment and revenue. These are all simply basics.
The proposal to widen the search for a suitable mayoral candidates couldn’t have come at a better time for Gqeberha.
Babalwa Lobishe simply doesn’t grasp what it requires to run a sophisticated city.
Relations between her office and the Nelson Mandela Bay Business Chamber are at the lowest.
She spends most of her time avoiding the chamber, rather than engaging it to find solutions to the city’s pressing problems.
Unemployment has just spiked to 29.8%, from 22.3% at about this time last year.
Poor electricity supply and crime are part of the problem.
These are issues within the powers of the mayor to solve.
There’s no reason why energy sub-stations are not serviced consistently, or CCTV cameras haven’t been installed to detect criminal activities.
All it requires is understanding how all these things are interconnected, prioritising and providing firm leadership.
A suitable candidate is unlikely to come from the party’s regional office.
To improve the prospects of an outsider succeeding as mayor, however, the party will have to reconfigure how it functions.
Local leaders in the Bay can sabotage an individual they feel has been forced upon them.
They have done it before.
Danny Jordaan still carries bruises.
Mcebisi Ndletyana is professor of political studies at the University of Johannesburg
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