We are a country at breaking point. We look around and wonder how we got here, from hope, from the promise of change, to a gnawing sense of betrayal.
The ruling party, the African National Congress (ANC), once the symbol of liberation, now bears the weight of unfulfilled promises, corruption, stagnation and disillusionment. Staying in it is like staying in an abusive relationship and trust me I’ve been there so I know what I’m talking about. You keep telling yourself “It’ll get better. Just a little more patience.” In the end you excuse bad behaviour, you hide the bruises, you cover up the truth, only to burn your hands in the end… like literally.
And at the centre of this in South Africa, is Cyril Ramaphosa. A man who has been accused of “abusing” a Woman. Many before him had wrongs to fix. But he entered office with the opportunity to repair, to rebuild, to restore trust. Instead, he’s handed us more of the same. He has become the worst president this country has ever had not necessarily because he’s done everything wrong, but because he had the chance to do everything right and failed the nation.
When Ramaphosa took the reins, South Africa was crying out for transformation, for decisive leadership. Unemployment was high (especially among youth), inequality stark, state‑owned enterprises failing, corruption rampant. He spoke at the G20 launch of “solidarity, equality and sustainable development.” The world listened. And we, the people of this country, held our breath.
South Africa’s chairing of the G20 for the first time. The first time on African soil should have been our moment. The world would see us lead, African leadership that matters.
But what did we get instead? Delays. Empty rhetoric. Continual apologies for failures in governance. While we droned on with speeches about inequality, the gap widened. While we flexed for global summits, many of our children live without decent education or meaningful work. While we sat at the table of global powers, many of our own are excluded from the economy.
When you stay in an abusive relationship, you blame yourself. “If only I was better, if only I tried harder, maybe things would change.” The ANC has turned that dynamic inside‑out. We stay, we hope, we believe and yet, we are the ones being let down, repeatedly. The party should protect us, yet increasingly it is the perpetrator of our neglect.
Leadership means accountability. It means showing up when it matters, doing the hard things, being transparent. That’s where I believe Ramaphosa falls short and where Herman Mashaba and Action SA provide a rare glimmer of something different.
Mashaba may lead a minority party, but his example shows clarity of purpose. When you’re not entrenched in the machinery, you can act differently, you can hold leaders to account, you can put people first. He reminds us that the leadership standard must come from service, not entitlement.
Ramaphosa, by contrast, presides over a party unwilling or unable to hold itself accountable. The language of transformation is everywhere; the results are about nowhere. The G20 presidency could have been our moment of redemption. Instead, it’s become a symbol of how little has changed.
What We’re Seeing:
– The G20 presidency carried slogans of “solidarity, equality, sustainability” yet our society still bears the scars of inequality: unemployment, lack of opportunity, and growing disaffection.
– When international scrutiny came for instance, the United States’ decision to boycott a G20 meeting and the government spun a narrative of victimhood rather than confession and correction.
– The abusive relationship analogy: We stay in hope that the partner will change. We apologise for their behaviour. We make excuses. The partner keeps repeating the narrative. The damage deepens. And eventually we realise that staying is hurting us more than leaving. Staying with the ANC in its current shape is doing the same to our nation.
So yes, I stand with the people who say: we must march. We must hold these leaders accountable. The protests, the voices rising, the frustration bubbling over these are not signs of disloyalty. They are signs of deep love for this country and deep pain for seeing it fail.
Ramaphosa had the chance to lead a renewal, to embody the change we were promised. He betrayed that opportunity not in one dramatic event, but in countless silent ones: a lack of urgency, a tolerance of mediocrity, a refusal to break patterns of entrenched power.
When you’re in an abusive relationship you often don’t want to admit it. You rationalise. You say it’ll be different this time. But deep down you know the cycle. The same apologies, same promises, same behaviours. The only way out is to say: “This isn’t working. I deserve better.” That’s the message for the ANC led government: we deserve better. The nation deserves better.
I don’t write this piece as an armchair observer. I write as one who has seen the potential of this country. I write as one whose heart has been bruised by betrayal but whose spirit refuses to give up. If the ANC cannot, or will not, reform itself, then the people must join the reform. ActionSA may not yet be the default alternative, but the idea of leadership that listens matters. The idea of leadership that prioritises people over power matters.
So we march. We voice. We demand. Because staying silent is complicit. Because pretending everything is fine is cowardly. Because our children deserve a nation led by those who understand service, not privilege.
If the G20 presidency teaches us anything, it’s this: Holding a global seat means nothing if you cannot hold yourself accountable at home. The slogan “solidarity, equality, sustainability” rings hollow when the people you lead still live outside its promise.
Ramaphosa, you had the chance. You have the power. But power without purpose is worthless and the people are no longer willing to wait. The relationship is broken. And the nation is done hoping for change from the same old promise.
We choose accountability. We choose dignity. We choose our nation.
Being in the ANC: Like Staying in an Abusive Relationship
We are a country at breaking point. We look around and wonder how we got here, from hope, from the promise of change, to a gnawing sense of betrayal.
The ruling party, the African National Congress (ANC), once the symbol of liberation, now bears the weight of unfulfilled promises, corruption, stagnation and disillusionment. Staying in it is like staying in an abusive relationship and trust me I’ve been there so I know what I’m talking about. You keep telling yourself “It’ll get better. Just a little more patience.” In the end you excuse bad behaviour, you hide the bruises, you cover up the truth, only to burn your hands in the end… like literally.
And at the centre of this in South Africa, is Cyril Ramaphosa. A man who has been accused of “abusing” a Woman. Many before him had wrongs to fix. But he entered office with the opportunity to repair, to rebuild, to restore trust. Instead, he’s handed us more of the same. He has become the worst president this country has ever had not necessarily because he’s done everything wrong, but because he had the chance to do everything right and failed the nation.
When Ramaphosa took the reins, South Africa was crying out for transformation, for decisive leadership. Unemployment was high (especially among youth), inequality stark, state‑owned enterprises failing, corruption rampant. He spoke at the G20 launch of “solidarity, equality and sustainable development.” The world listened. And we, the people of this country, held our breath.
South Africa’s chairing of the G20 for the first time. The first time on African soil should have been our moment. The world would see us lead, African leadership that matters.
But what did we get instead? Delays. Empty rhetoric. Continual apologies for failures in governance. While we droned on with speeches about inequality, the gap widened. While we flexed for global summits, many of our children live without decent education or meaningful work. While we sat at the table of global powers, many of our own are excluded from the economy.
When you stay in an abusive relationship, you blame yourself. “If only I was better, if only I tried harder, maybe things would change.” The ANC has turned that dynamic inside‑out. We stay, we hope, we believe and yet, we are the ones being let down, repeatedly. The party should protect us, yet increasingly it is the perpetrator of our neglect.
Leadership means accountability. It means showing up when it matters, doing the hard things, being transparent. That’s where I believe Ramaphosa falls short and where Herman Mashaba and Action SA provide a rare glimmer of something different.
Mashaba may lead a minority party, but his example shows clarity of purpose. When you’re not entrenched in the machinery, you can act differently, you can hold leaders to account, you can put people first. He reminds us that the leadership standard must come from service, not entitlement.
Ramaphosa, by contrast, presides over a party unwilling or unable to hold itself accountable. The language of transformation is everywhere; the results are about nowhere. The G20 presidency could have been our moment of redemption. Instead, it’s become a symbol of how little has changed.
What We’re Seeing:
– The G20 presidency carried slogans of “solidarity, equality, sustainability” yet our society still bears the scars of inequality: unemployment, lack of opportunity, and growing disaffection.
– When international scrutiny came for instance, the United States’ decision to boycott a G20 meeting and the government spun a narrative of victimhood rather than confession and correction.
– The abusive relationship analogy: We stay in hope that the partner will change. We apologise for their behaviour. We make excuses. The partner keeps repeating the narrative. The damage deepens. And eventually we realise that staying is hurting us more than leaving. Staying with the ANC in its current shape is doing the same to our nation.
So yes, I stand with the people who say: we must march. We must hold these leaders accountable. The protests, the voices rising, the frustration bubbling over these are not signs of disloyalty. They are signs of deep love for this country and deep pain for seeing it fail.
Ramaphosa had the chance to lead a renewal, to embody the change we were promised. He betrayed that opportunity not in one dramatic event, but in countless silent ones: a lack of urgency, a tolerance of mediocrity, a refusal to break patterns of entrenched power.
When you’re in an abusive relationship you often don’t want to admit it. You rationalise. You say it’ll be different this time. But deep down you know the cycle. The same apologies, same promises, same behaviours. The only way out is to say: “This isn’t working. I deserve better.” That’s the message for the ANC led government: we deserve better. The nation deserves better.
I don’t write this piece as an armchair observer. I write as one who has seen the potential of this country. I write as one whose heart has been bruised by betrayal but whose spirit refuses to give up. If the ANC cannot, or will not, reform itself, then the people must join the reform. ActionSA may not yet be the default alternative, but the idea of leadership that listens matters. The idea of leadership that prioritises people over power matters.
So we march. We voice. We demand. Because staying silent is complicit. Because pretending everything is fine is cowardly. Because our children deserve a nation led by those who understand service, not privilege.
If the G20 presidency teaches us anything, it’s this: Holding a global seat means nothing if you cannot hold yourself accountable at home. The slogan “solidarity, equality, sustainability” rings hollow when the people you lead still live outside its promise.
Ramaphosa, you had the chance. You have the power. But power without purpose is worthless and the people are no longer willing to wait. The relationship is broken. And the nation is done hoping for change from the same old promise.
We choose accountability. We choose dignity. We choose our nation.