The minister and the plane queue

Submitted by Craig Irving

Early one recent morning I was milling around the back of a plane queue in Cape Town — the queue stretched from the boarding steps and along the tarmac.

The morning threw me some telling nuggets of social commentary.

First I had been irritated by the arrival of a big, fat, silver-blue and ministerial-looking BMW. The occupant was a large “minister” and a Department of Home Affairs sticker on the side door.

The official emerged, parted the queue and boarded the plane as if no another person existed.

I stood wondering why our ministers need to be driven about in such a vulgar and confronting icon of undignified new-money status, given the list of priorities South Africa needs to deal with.

What is it about leaders who need to display their leadership materially? It should be written in our Constitution that leaders and MPs drive honest cars and more fuel-efficient cars; the money saved should be spent on housing, sensible future energy strategies or perhaps education planning.

It’s no surprise the average Gauteng hijacker seeks instant material gratification when these role models of civil duty exploit their positions and overspend their fat budgets on excessive modes of transport.

As the queue was static, I was forced to look at the BMW, the pushy minister and the beautiful Cape dawn a little while longer. I was irritated; “disgusting” was the word milling in my mind.

Then I noticed a short, elderly gentleman standing at the back of the queue. He was stone-cold last, modestly standing and reading his Cape Times. I felt I had seen him before; I felt I knew him … And then I realised I was looking as Kader Asmal. The Kader Asmal. Here he was, standing as an ordinary person right at the back of this long, static South African Airways line.

Here was a 74-year-old man who had fought for our peace, crafted our democracy, a central figure in the miracle that is South Africa — a person who had earned, if anyone had, the right to go to the front of the queue. But he was quietly standing at the back.

I was moved to walk up to him, acknowledge him and thank him for all he had done for our country, for his time in prison, for his patience, for his dedication and for his leadership. And for the humility to stand at the back of the queue.

Just then the BMW revved its engine and drove straight at us, indicating that we should make way. Both of us did.

I hope that our beautiful country once again breeds leaders who are willing to stand at the back of the queue.

I did ask Asmal what car he drives — it’s a Toyota Corolla.

Maybe this is the class of vehicle that should become mandatory in South African ministerial leadership training?

Craig Irving recently returned to Cape Town after five years in Sydney. He has become intensely uncomfortable with the comfort of First World affluence and has had nightmares of a tombstone with “Craig was comfortable” on it. He returned to his motherland to be part of a real world. He’s a researcher and a passionate anti-“affluenza” junkie, and loves being part of this alive and crazy continent.