Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: Unbloat the Cabinet by reinstating the evergreen Senzo Mchunu

Ah, Chief Dwasaho! I write again from the People’s Department of Common Sense to propose an urgent presidential action: kindly reinstate our on-leave police minister, uBaba ka Law and Order himself, Senzo Mchunu. As I said last week, the man is a rare specimen in the political zoo: hardworking, honest and gloriously allergic to delegation.

My conviction was sealed during the recent sitting of the parliamentary ad hoc committee probing claims of judicial capture and political interference in the police, where Deputy Police Minister Cassel Mathale calmly confessed that Minister Mchunu “has not delegated any duties to me or to the other deputy, Polly Boshielo”. Imagine, my leader, two deputies paid handsomely to master the art of ever waiting.

Bold leadership or ulterior motive? 

For more than 12 months, Mchunu has single-handedly steered the South African Police Service (SAPS), a R120.89-billion institution with nearly 188,000 personnel, armed only with a teacher’s degree, sheer grit, and a filing cabinet full of directives. Mind you, one such directive — the one disbanding the Political Killings Task Team — was reportedly issued while National Commissioner General Fannie Masemola was on leave (and, by all accounts, napping) on New Year’s Eve. That is dedication, or perhaps interference, cleverly disguised as bold leadership.

Adverse audit opinion

Now that we are all big on fiscal discipline and maintaining clean audits, the SAPS might soon earn itself an adverse audit opinion, at least on the line item marked Compensation of Executive Authorities. Consider this, my leader: two ministers earning R2,689,937 each and two deputies pocketing R2,215,220 apiece. That is a collective R9,810,314 in one financial year — enough to fund a new police station, an air-wing patrol, or a few thousand litres of diesel for AmaPanyaza’s chase vehicles.

If, my leader, you were to disappoint the pensioner from Wits, Professor Firoz Cachalia, and reinstate the evergreen Mchunu, the fiscus would save a handsome R9.8-million in just one year. Imagine that: one minister, one salary, one directive per annum, one country finally living within its means, with only the “Big Five” for moral support and the Auditor-General for therapy.

The orchestra of officialdom

Each minister in our beloved republic arrives with a full orchestra of officialdom. The conductor’s podium belongs to the head of ministry (chief director level, R1,350,000 a year), while the spokesperson (director, R1,050,000) provides the brass section, amplifying every whisper into a symphony of self-praise.

Then comes the private secretary (R900,000), the faithful metronome keeping the minister’s calendar in perfect time; the personal assistant (R780,000), otherwise known as the bag-carrier-in-chief; the parliamentary liaison officer (director, R1,050,000), who ensures Parliament is kept half-informed; and the speechwriter (director, R1,050,000), whose words the minister seldom reads but always signs.

Melody of mediocrity 

Add to that a small choir of secretaries, typists and receptionists, each earning about R350,000, harmonising the hymn of bureaucracy so that the melody of mediocrity never falters.

Two special advisers — one for policy, one for ANC politics — each with a salary package of up to R1.7-million, while the administrative secretary (R780,000) doubles as Cabinet gatekeeper, gossip custodian and keeper of diaries and secrets. Then there is the tea lady (R150,000), that quiet diplomat of the beverage table, ensuring caffeine flows where logic fails.

Security, naturally, is non-negotiable: two senior close protectors (warrant officer level, R350,000 each), and two additional officers stationed at the minister’s home (R300,000 each), guarding both the gates of power and the leftover stew from last night’s Cabinet dinner. By the time the SMS payroll clears, one minister’s private orchestra costs about R12.9-million a year, and that is before the first siren sounds. If you think I made it up, see the example here.

Less fat, more bureaucracy 

Even the deputy minister enjoys a trimmed-down entourage — leaner, yes, but far from frugal. There is the head of office (director, R1,050,000), the media or parliamentary officer (R900,000), the private secretary (R780,000), the registry clerk (R300,000), the driver or messenger (R250,000), and the indispensable tea lady (R150,000) — lest caffeine diplomacy collapse entirely.

For good measure, add two close protectors (warrant officer level, R370,000 each) and two home-based police officers (R300,000 each), ensuring the deputy’s peace of mind even during loadshedding or WhatsApp leaks.

The deputy’s office, modestly, clocks in at roughly R4.73-million a year. Multiply that by two, and you have a parade of deputies with no job description.

In practice, it is not uncommon for some deputy ministers to arrive with a complement of 20 staff members, all feverishly editing directives, drafting memos, or perhaps perfecting the fine art of looking busy. Truth be told, no one quite knows what deputy ministers actually do. Do they shadow the minister, take notes, or guard the stapler? When I grow up, I intend to find out — for research purposes only, of course. I suspect their true function lies somewhere between minister-in-waiting and professional seat-filler at presidential imbizos.

Counting the cost of (mis)governance

All told, one ministry’s political office — minister and deputy minister combined — costs the taxpayer roughly R17.64-million annually. Proof, my leader, that in South Africa, governance remains a team sport generously funded by the fiscus, run on directives and obviously supervised by the tea lady and, occasionally, by commissions of inquiry.

Now, scale that to two ministers and two deputies in the Police Ministry, and you are staring at R35.28-million a year. That is thirty-five million, two hundred and eighty thousand rand, for a ministry that, by its own admission, can be run on a single directive per annum by one man with one BA degree last used in 1991.

The gospel according to the tea lady

The tea lady, ever the survivor, remains the most stable post in the executive branch. Ministers may fall, deputies may reshuffle, but the tea lady endures — steeping quietly in the corridors of power, dispensing caffeine, sugar and unsolicited wisdom. She has seen more Cabinets than the carpenter who built Mahlamba Ndlopfu’s pantry. If Parliament had any sense, it would summon her to testify about continuity in government.

On the economics of excess

Comrade Leadership, I know austerity is the new buzzword in Pretoria. We have trimmed budgets, capped travel and banned finger lunches (except, of course, at strategy sessions). Yet somehow the political class continues to multiply faster than the number of functioning police vehicles. We have 75 of these political species roaming the corridors of power — 32 ministers and 43 deputy ministers.

There is a minister for every conceivable portfolio: Water and Sanitation, Electricity, Minerals and Energy, Small Business Development, Employment and Labour, Trade, Industry and Competition, yet we have zero economic growth, no water and no energy. Each arrives with an entourage, convoy, and public relations ecosystem, ensuring that poverty always has company. In any private company, duplication is called inefficiency; in government, it is called “capacity building”.

One directive, one minister, one police service 

When the nation cries for police visibility, we give them another deputy minister. When the Auditor-General warns of waste, we form a committee to investigate the committee investigating waste. We are a country where searching for solutions multiplies the problem. Yet amid the absurdity, there stands Mchunu — the man who manages without delegating, commands without committees, and issues directives even while his commissioner is on holiday or napping. Perhaps that is the new model of efficiency: one directive, one department, one nation bewildered.

Suspects or headlines?  

So, my leader, please consider a simpler path before the nation collapses under the weight of its own job titles. Reinstate Mchunu, retire one ministerial duplicate, and redirect the saved R33.78-million to the detectives (minus Lieutenant General Shadrack Sibiya) who chase suspects instead of headlines. We do not need more ministers of police; we need more policing. We do not need more deputies of anything; we need service delivery, accountability and, if possible, decent wi-fi, computers and photocopiers at police stations.

The time has come for a leaner, meaner Cabinet, where the tea lady is the only one allowed to serve.

Till next week, my man. Send me to the Cabinet Room to hear them whisper, “Who is this Bhekisisa Mncube, and who does he think he is?” DM