In Context

South Africa Under Ramaphosa: A Failed State in Plain Sight

Mzoxolo Mpolase

By Mzoxolo Mpolase

The election of Cyril Ramaphosa as ANC president in 2017 and his subsequent takeover as the country’s president in 2018 were hailed by many as a watershed moment.

To those disillusioned by Jacob Zuma’s presidency, which was widely criticised as nine wasted years of state capture and cronyism—most infamously encapsulated by the Gupta family—Ramaphosa represented a fresh start.

Many believed that, despite serving as Zuma’s deputy throughout those so-called wasted years, Ramaphosa would be the saviour South Africa desperately needed.

His supporters selectively recalled his role in the CODESA negotiations that ended apartheid, painting him as a skilled negotiator.

Others lauded his business credentials, pointing to his post-politics wealth accumulation as proof of his competence. Here, they said, was the ideal leader—both a statesman and a businessman.

But the idea that Ramaphosa was ever a true businessman was always an illusion. His business career was not one of entrepreneurial grit or visionary leadership but rather a political beneficiary of South Africa’s first wave of Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) deals.

These deals, structured in the name of economic transformation, saw established companies hand over massive equity stakes, often up to 25%, to politically connected individuals who became instant millionaires—Ramaphosa among them.

The so-called BEE partners, many of whom had never built or run companies, were suddenly granted the titles of business magnates and captains of industry. But it was always a mirage.

Ramaphosa’s presidency has only reinforced this illusion—that of a businessman at the helm of government, guiding South Africa to prosperity.

In reality, his approach has been profoundly anti-business, marked by indecisiveness, suffocating regulations, and policies that have discouraged investment and economic growth.

Instead of fostering local entrepreneurship and improving business confidence, he has spent his tenure organising international investment summits, hollow spectacles where empty promises are made while South African businesses struggle under his watch.

When the 2019 elections came around, the ANC’s support dipped below 60% for the first time, landing at 57.50%. It wasn’t the crushing defeat opposition parties had hoped for, but it was also far from a resounding endorsement.

Nevertheless, the ANC still held a majority, meaning Ramaphosa had the mandate to implement his vision without coalition constraints.

Yet, no grand turnaround materialised. Instead, South Africa began a slow, painful descent into deepening crisis. Load shedding, which had plagued the country intermittently, only worsened.

In 2019, South Africans endured 530 hours of power cuts. By 2023, that figure had skyrocketed to 6,950 hours—costing the economy billions.

Then came COVID-19 in 2020. The government’s response was chaotic and authoritarian—draconian lockdowns, arbitrary bans, and a crippled economy.

Instead of steady leadership and a proactive vision, South Africans were subjected to reactionary policies, a lack of capacity, and blatant corruption in pandemic relief funds. Load shedding persisted throughout, compounding the devastation.

In 2024, a glimmer of hope emerged: Eskom managed to keep the lights on for over a year. But this was an illusion, not a triumph of governance.

On 31 January 2025, the illusion crumbled. Eskom issued a cautionary statement and, within hours, announced the return of load shedding.

And so, South Africa is back where it started. The year without load shedding was not proof of progress but a brief respite before the inevitable return to failure.

The inability to provide a stable electricity supply is the most glaring hallmark of a failed state. A country that cannot power its homes, businesses, and industries cannot function, let alone thrive.

Electricity is fundamental—it keeps food preserved, homes warm in winter and cool in summer, and businesses operational. Without it, economic activity grinds to a halt.

Yet, the power crisis is only one symptom of the broader collapse. Crime and lawlessness have surged to unprecedented levels, with businesses being directly targeted while the government does little to address the crisis. Illegal migration is at its peak. Poverty and unemployment have deepened, and businesses are more depressed than ever.

Economic growth is stagnant, if not outright non-existent. Cities and towns, once vibrant, have decayed into shadows of their former selves, crumbling under the weight of mismanagement and corruption.

And when the ANC finally dropped below 50% in the 2024 elections, securing just 40.18% of the vote, Ramaphosa and his allies did not see this as a wake-up call.

It was not a last-ditch opportunity to change course, to salvage the country, or to reflect on the policies that had driven South Africa into the ground. Instead, it was business as usual.

Even with a coalition partner in the form of the DA (21.8%) and other minor parties—who were not even necessary for governance—the ANC pressed ahead with reckless policies, doubling down on ideological posturing rather than real reform.

Instead of prioritising solutions for load shedding, crime, and economic decline, Ramaphosa has pushed forward draconian legislation, including:

  • The BELA Act, which strips School Governing Bodies of power and reduces parental choice in education.
  • An update to the Expropriation Act of 1975, which broadens government powers for expropriation without compensation, despite existing legal mechanisms already allowing for expropriation under limited circumstances.
  • The National Health Insurance (NHI) Bill, signed into law in May 2024, in the dying days of Ramaphosa’s first term—a policy that, if implemented, will decimate the entire private healthcare sector.

These radical policy moves have been made in direct defiance of the DA, the ANC’s supposed main coalition partner.

So much for being a statesman. Instead of addressing South Africa’s immediate crises—load shedding, crime, unemployment, and corruption—Ramaphosa’s government has prioritised grandstanding with sweeping new legislation, completely ignoring the fact that the problem has never been a lack of laws, but a failure to properly and honestly implement them.

For 30 years, successive ANC governments have failed to enforce existing laws or manage the country’s infrastructure responsibly. Now, instead of restoring basic functionality, Ramaphosa’s administration has chosen ideological distractions over economic recovery.

Ramaphosa, once hailed as the statesman-businessman who would rescue South Africa, has instead presided over its accelerated decline. If Zuma’s presidency was defined by state capture, then what label does Ramaphosa’s tenure deserve? The “New Dawn” has become a dark age.

South Africa is not on the path to becoming a failed state—it already is one. The mirage has evaporated. The failure is real.

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