In life, we are taught, often encouraged, to fall seven times and to stand up eight. In that way, we defy the odds. We become resilient. The stuff, I reckon, the poorest among us are getting to grips with right now.
When the government decided how it was going to cushion users of petroleum products from the effects of Donald Trump’s war against Iran, there was nothing for those who use paraffin, who are the poorest of the poor in our society. The bright sparks in the government will argue the paraffin users are not forgotten, but it’s just not possible to help everyone.
The cost of paraffin has more than doubled, from R11.67 a litre to R23.19. We should not expect an outcry. The poor, too, have internalised this sort of attack, which turns the African proverb, “After the storm, there will be a rainbow”, on its head. For many, after this storm there will only be more storms.
The politicians will call it “resilience”, because they have no clue how these wretched of the earth survive. But survive they will, as the poor always have.
What all of us appreciate is that the current challenges are brought about by the warmongers of Washington. It’s not something President Cyril Ramaphosa or his energy minister Gwede Mantashe could have done much about. The factors causing the fuel increases are exogenous.
It is revealing, however, that when the government needed to choose who to cushion, it chose to placate the noisy middle class. The very poor are too busy trying to survive to have time to write letters to the editor, call radio stations or engage in noisy, and meaningless, online discourse. Their energy is directed towards survival, which becomes more precarious each passing day.
The fat cats in the government, meanwhile, know just how to take care of themselves. Weeks ahead of the budget speech, the president signed a 4.1% pay rise for public office bearers and a 3.8% increase for MPs and provincial executives — backdated to April 1 2024. Before this, there were 3% increases for cabinet ministers, MPs and judges, signed in July 2023 and backdated to April 2022. This is in addition to performance bonuses and the enhanced car allowances they gave themselves.
Quite regular, life-changing windfalls.
The forgotten people huddling around their paraffin stoves might have hoped some crumbs would fall off the master’s table for them, perhaps in the form of increased social grants
The forgotten people huddling around their paraffin stoves might have hoped some crumbs would fall off the master’s table for them, perhaps in the form of increased social grants. Between 2022 and 2024, the old-age grant rose only R195 and the child support grant rose R50. The old-age grant went up R135 in 2025 and rises another R85 this month, taking it to R2,400pm.
The point is not that pensioners must be paid the same as ministers, but simply that the cushioning of economic blows for pensioners is barely visible. How does R85 maintain, let alone improve, their quality of life? It is ridiculous.
If you think, too, about how load-shedding was solved for the elite, but continued as load reduction in poor areas, it’s clear the very poor are on their own. The poor must collect from other peasants to buy electrical transformers for their areas. For the rest of society, load-shedding is history.
When you’re poor and, like the paraffin people, have no voice, you are forgotten. You are the skunks of the world. We are told you are resilient. You can endure suffering and fall many times; we will see you rise again.
But when resilience fails in one family, or in an individual, how does it manifest? All we see in the media is a poor village woman killing herself and her children without an explanation. Or some men killing each other in taverns over arguments that don’t make sense; we, the commentariat, will wring our hands about alcohol abuse, while the source of the rage could well be dehumanising poverty.
The truth, though, is that those relying on paraffin must wake up. They must make noise. They must insist on their socioeconomic rights, which the constitution says must be progressively realised.
They must refuse to be lulled into “resilience”, despite what such icons as Nelson Mandela have told us. “Do not judge me by my successes. Judge me by how many times I fell down and got up again,” he said. Inspiring, yes. But how many Mandelas who can’t afford paraffin this week will feel inspired?
We can quote many aphorisms that might ease our consciences about the plight of the poor. But the poor must learn that failure to make a noise will delay their freedom.
Sigmund Freud taught us that simply enduring suffering produces no results. “If suffering really taught a lesson, the world would be populated by wise men. Pain has nothing to teach those who do not find the strength and courage to listen to it,” observed Freud.
The poor must, eventually, listen to their pain and do something about it. They must organise themselves and force their issues on the agenda. They must make it uncomfortable for the ANC and its GNU partners to unleash this quiet, destructive violence on them. They must learn that there’s no virtue in being graceful and quiet about their suffering.
The biggest irony is that many people in our country are poor and, if they voted correctly, they could change the face of local government before the end of this year. But we know they are too discouraged to do something about their suffering. They leave politics to the middle class who speak on their behalf, but develop amnesia when resources must be allocated.
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