It is blindingly obvious what needs to happen. South Africa itself must be placed under business rescue. There is no time to waste.
The rescue practitioner will take full charge of the country with the power to take all decisions, including running the country’s finances, much like Les Matuson will be doing with our bloated leech of an airline. Les is basically an accountant with superpowers. Instead of rescuing damsels in distress, he rescues companies in distress.
We’re going to need a bigger Les. And whoever it is can’t come from this country. We need someone who is neither white nor black, male nor female, rich nor poor. We are a nation quick to judge and cannot afford to have the person tasked with saving the country being immediately pigeon-holed according to race, ethnicity, gender, religion, sexual orientation, socio-economic status or culinary preferences.
We should be looking for a cross between Mr Miyagi but less obviously Chinese, Galadriel but not so white, Morpheus with red pills only, Gandalf but more sprightly and Obi-Wan Kenobi with a light sabre that can charge itself. And maybe a bit of Tyler Durden for those days when the gloves really need to come off.
Our president has been against the ropes ever since he left his corner. If he didn’t want to be a contender, he shouldn’t have stepped into the ring. By now he should be deep into it, boxing bare-knuckled, but he is wearing soft puffy gloves and has allowed his hands to be tied by the constraints of collective responsibility. He keeps making the right noises but it’s too late.
Stop the fight. Bring in The Practitioner.
The first thing he must do is get the police and army chiefs into a room and force them to listen to Steve Hofmeyr songs until they agree to pledge allegiance to The Practitioner. The insurrectionists in government must be kept on a tight leash.
He will need to raze the civil service. Get rid of every last one of those indolent parasites who spend their waking hours yawning and bleating and suckling on the exhausted taxpayers’ beleaguered tit.
It will be done in tranches so as not to bring the country to a complete standstill. Nobody wants to wake up to a Venezuela or a … well, a South Africa, really. But nor do we want a Germany or Australia, either. In our punch-drunk condition, I doubt we could cope with life in a country where the trains aren’t on fire, everything works and nobody breaks the law. Something that falls between Portugal and Nigeria might be nice. Without the Nigerians, obviously. Or the Portuguese, for that matter.
The Practitioner could take a leaf out of Eskom’s playbook. The eviscerating of the civil service would be done in stages. The most useless departments, like transport and arts and culture, would be the first to go. The drones and malingerers in each of our 40 departments would be invited to reapply for their positions, but this time they won’t get the job simply because they have a cute ass or a cousin in the presidency.
The Practitioner will constitute a selection panel made up of very clever, ethical and honest people from … okay, maybe not people. Thanks to leaders like Donald Trump and Boris Johnson, cretinism is the new capitalism and lies the new truth.
The Practitioner would need to use artificial intelligence. Robots who don’t take smoke breaks and are algorithmed up to their shiny obsidian eyeballs. We will look to Japan for this. Everything will be artificial one day. Especially insemination. You don’t think women are going to put up with this bumping uglies business forever, do you? The rapid advancements being made in the sex toy industry and a global swing towards lesbianism tells you all you need to know.
So anyway. Here’s a glimpse at the government I would like to see once The Practitioner has done his work and our country is on the road to becoming Africa’s first real success story.
Ministries are relocated within their respective areas of responsibility. For instance, correctional services will have their offices inside prison buildings. Officials will share modified cells while the minister will be given a communal cell to himself. With a functional toilet. I’m not suggesting we descend into savagery, here. If one’s working day started and ended inside a prison, it might occur to one over time that honesty could well be the best policy.
The education department will be located in prefabs on the grounds of rural schools that are short of luxuries like desks and books. Officials will be required to walk to work. They will also be expected to physically engage with pupils. Not, as is currently the case, in a carnal sense.
The department of human settlements will have their offices in townships. Officials will live on location and interact with the underclass. This might prove a bridge too far for some and the department may have to recruit from societies that have not yet developed an immunity to human suffering.
The departments of defence, agriculture and women will merge. Soldiers will be assigned to guard the marijuana plantations of the Eastern Cape while Rooivalk helicopters provide air cover for women who would like to go out at night without being hit on. Or murdered.
The health department will be placed in the hands of someone who left a state hospital in an even worse condition than when they arrived. Only someone with a massive grudge against the rotten system can clean it up.
International relations will focus primarily on barring people who, after emigrating from South Africa, now wish to return because Australia is on fire.
Employees of the national intelligence agency will be required to undergo regular IQ tests. Anyone who falls below 130 is transferred to the department of sport.
Public Works. That would make a nice change.
The minister of public enterprises and the CEO of Eskom will wear ankle bracelets that emit electrical shocks with increasing severity every time there are rolling blackouts. Stage 6 will involve admittance to the burns unit at a state hospital. Stage 7 is terminal.
Bring on The Practitioner.
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