When Busisiwe Mkhwebane goes from ‘I’ to ‘we’

I won’t rehash much of what we already know about our dear public protector, Busisiwe Mkhwebane, aside from acknowledging how poorly she seems to fare when her work is challenged in court.

I’m not a soothsayer, but I’d be happy to bet she will do just as badly, or even worse, in defending her Pravin Gordhan/Sars report, not to mention what look like dim prospects against Cyril Ramaphosa.

It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who once proudly said she planned to have a less “confrontational” approach towards government officials. Of course, when she made that vow, Jacob Zuma was in charge.

Fast-forward to now and Mkhwebane’s reports have proven to be sloppy affairs, while her attempts to defend them, replete with having lied under oath, are even messier, which will probably be her undoing. This is a shame, because nasty truths about Bankorp, Gordhan, Sars, Ramaphosa and many more are worth knowing about and holding the powerful to account for. Sadly, South Africa’s chief anti-corruption officer’s slapdash approach seems to have messed that up for not just her, but all of us.

One wonders now what’s so great about having a public protector at all. If you consider the incumbent’s primary job is to combat corruption, then even a brief look at the past 25 years in South Africa could easily leave you wondering where this person has been – fire pools and chicken runs notwithstanding. It’s better than nothing, sure, and, at least since the days of Thuli Madonsela the office has achieved a bit more than minor victories and the ceremonial slaying of scapegoats.

But the very idea of a public protector remains a slightly weird one. It is simultaneously a title for an individual and a seven-year job for the incumbent. It’s also a major constitutional chapter 9 institution, and an office with numerous staff and satellite offices.

Is it a person? Is it an organisation? Is it a democratic idea that’s actually still being tested in the real world?

It’s all of this and more, and the way Mkhwebane speaks suggests that her own understanding of the job shifts gears between all of these realities.

Unlike any of the other five chapter 9 bodies, the person in charge of the office is now something of a quasi-celebrity, which began with Madonsela. How many of her predecessors can you name, for instance, and how many of the other chapter 9 bodies can you list? Who is currently in charge of the Commission for Gender Equality? (one mark)

Obviously Mkhwebane doesn’t do all the work, which would be impossible. There are numerous investigations she can’t have much time to devote to personally, merely being on hand to guide her staff and eventually sign off on final outcomes and recommendations.

She can therefore get away with both referring to the public protector as “me” sometimes, and as “us” at others.

When she was releasing headline-grabbing YouTube videos about how she was investigating Gordhan and the “rogue unit”, there was a lot of “I will this” and “I am doing and not doing that”. When she was processing the news that the Constitutional Court had upheld an expensive personal costs finding against her after her disastrous handling of the Absa/Bankorp investigation, there were a lot of “we wills” and “we ares”. She even went as far as describing the mess as a learning experience for not only her but for all public protectors – including future ones, as if she’s actually done whoever’s going to take over from her a favour by getting the basics of the job completely wrong.

Mkhwebane often appears to cling to the fact that she has an office with staff when things go badly, like a typical case of the kind of boss no one wants: who loves to claim the glory and credit when things go well, but throws everyone under the bus when they don’t.

She should simply have taken full personal responsibility and resigned after the highest court in our country effectively called her a bald-faced liar. But she has found refuge behind that “office door”.

If it is true that the office of the public protector is indeed some kind of institutional body that acts in a collective way to arrive at decisions, keeping to strict behaviour protocols and rules to maintain consistency, then maybe we can forgive Advocate Mkhwebane for her failings. Maybe “they” are all to blame. But that would mean taking a harsh view of all the Office of the Public Protector’s senior staff members, and maybe even Mkhwebane’s juniors, to conclude that maybe there is a culture of incompetence at this important chapter 9 institution, and it’s not really her fault.

Maybe they are all as clueless about the law as she is (and her deputy Kevin Malunga’s sometimes spirited defence of her could lead you to accept that).

But I don’t believe that. There are still too many people working there who’ve seen enough to know how investigations should be conducted. My guess is that they have tried to reason with her, give her advice and maybe even warn her. But Busisiwe Mkhwebane appears to be a proud, stubborn and arrogant woman, and no one can force her to listen.

I know how it might feel. Many of us have experienced the misfortune of a boss who just doesn’t take advice, or ever ask for it, and isn’t open to criticism from the “little people” on the shop floor. The boss has a point to prove and will do it, come what may.

People like that can’t really be helped.

When they’re blundering into disaster, their staff will eventually just throw up their hands and concede, like Doris Day, that “whatever will be, will be”. I’m sure there will be many stories to be told later of how it has all gone wrong, and they’re just awaiting the inevitable now.

It may be that the actual concept of a public protector needs to be revisited, with the aim of creating a stronger institutional culture that will make it harder for a single individual at the top to pursue a reckless personal agenda that ultimately undermines the entire office’s integrity.

Or we could just do a better job of picking the right person in the first place.

Citizen digital editor Charles Cilliers

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