07 Jul 2013 | Ray Hartley | Original Publication: Sunday Times Lifestyle Magazine
A stint in Argentina gave the
former opposition leader a fresh appreciation of South Africa, writes Ray
Hartley
PICTURE a classroom somewhere
in the bowels of the Department of International Relations and Co-operation in
Pretoria. Seated at the desks are three soon-to-be ambassadors, Tony Leon, Zola
Skweyiya and Ngconde Balfour.
They are being prepared for
their new missions in Argentina, London and Botswana, respectively. Tony Leon,
by his account – and it is the only account – is taking it all rather
seriously. Zola Skweyiya admits that he is doing it out of political duty
rather than desire, and Ngconde Balfour is frequently absent and wont to moan
that he is being taught things he already knows.
The classes are Leon’s
introduction to his new life as a representative of a government that he has
criticised as corrupt, inefficient and incompetent in his years on the
opposition benches.
After leaving parliament, Leon
was pleased to lose his political straitjacket.
“I will certainly not miss the
often dreary non-debates about non-issues which, over the past decade, often
passed as the staple of parliamentary engagement. Nor will I mourn, too deeply,
the dark arts of political in-fighting and intrigue with which political
leadership is associated,” he wrote in the Sunday Times in 2009.
The course and a rapid
introduction to Spanish behind him, he leaves South Africa for Buenos Aires to
begin his new life as ambassador.
On his return, Leon is a
changed man. He has not, he is quick to say, abandoned any of his principles.
But he grudgingly concedes that he sees South African politics in a different
light. His experiences while in Argentina have made him think again.
No longer “leader of the
opposition”, he finds to his surprise that new doors are open to him. Leon has
entered a new life in a realm somewhere above the grind of politics where there
is more hope and possibility.
The then defence minister,
Lindiwe Sisulu, whom he has always viewed as a preening “princess”, alights
from the steps of the plane in Argentina to give him a warm hug. Leon observes
that she is, it turns out, effective and functional as she deals with the
signing of some or other much-delayed treaty that Leon had badgered her to
attend to.
In Argentina’s president,
Cristina Kirchner, he sees what a real princess can do when given the levers of
power. Benefiting from several plastic surgeries, Kirchner sports “Angelina
Jolie lips”. He makes this observation as he hands her his official
accreditation.
Princess privilege, in fact,
knows no bounds. Leon discovers Kirchner’s government has banned the Big Mac
from the McDonalds menu in Argentina, apparently because of The Economist‘s Big
Mac Index, which it uses to calculate the true values of foreign currencies.
The magazine retaliates by refusing to carry any of Argentina’s official
statistics. It is more than an amusing sideshow, Leon points out. By
manipulating the inflation figure, Kirchner is able to cheat buyers of
inflation-linked bonds out of money.
Members of the embassy staff,
by contrast, are not princesses. They are professional to a fault, Leon
discovers. Dirco itself runs a very tight ship and is proud of its clean status
with the auditor-general, going so far as to warn Leon not to tarnish its
reputation by spending improperly.
The secretary-general of the
National Union of Mineworkers, Frans Baleni, visits. Leon notes that South
Africa’s laws, which protect labour, pale when compared to those of Argentina,
where it is all but impossible to fire someone. Baleni shows big eyes at the
thought.
In South Africa, Julius Malema
advocates nationalisation in a populist assault on the investment community.
But Malema is disciplined, sidelined and fired. Nationalisation is rejected by
the ANC’s party conference.
In Argentina, the pouting
president nationalises the country’s leading oil company by fiat. Newspapers,
which are critical of her administration, are victimised. The tax collection
agency is used to target dissenters.
Leon’s own eyes widen at
everyday occurrences, like purchasing a pastry, which is a nightmare. There is
a queue for the pastry and then a second queue to pay for it as an old
shopkeeper thumbs his way through an order book in which each and every sale is
recorded. Everything starts late. Meals frequently take place in the early
hours of the morning, leading to unproductive mornings.
On tour with The
Accidental Ambassador, his book on his experiences, he is back
home and lighter and freer than when he left. There are no queues at the shops
in Joburg’s Hyde Park shopping centre. A book club hosts him; he once again
mentions Kirchner’s Angelina Jolie lips and can’t resist a swipe at his
successor, Helen Zille, pointing out that Botox is fashionable in the
Democratic Alliance these days.
He is at pains to point out
that he remains somewhere in the DA firmament, but there is just a hint of
bitterness. He appears slighted that he is not recognised for having created
the platform for the party’s growth.
The irony – and in South
Africa there is always irony – is that Leon and Zille have, sometime in the
last five years, quietly passed each other like ships in the night. Zille has
gone in the opposite direction – from independent journalist and NGO leader to
party partisan. Leon, on the other hand, has had a relatively easy walk from
politics to freedom. – @hartleyr
The Accidental Ambassador is published by Pan Macmillan
The Accidental
Ambassador: From Parliament to Patagonia by Tony Leon
EAN: 9781770102415
EAN: 9781770102415
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