These debates are taking place at its special congress that is being held this week.

The ANC, labour federation Cosatu and the SACP have been in a formal alliance since the 1990s, continuing the relationship between the ANC, the SACP and the progressive trade union movement that developed during the struggle years.

The alliance has seen the ANC’s partners back it at the polls, in return for the political accommodation of their leadership and for a say in influencing economic, social welfare and other key policies.

The influence of Cosatu and the SACP over the ANC has waned since 1996, when Thabo Mbeki became party president and the so-called 96 Class Project took control of the governing party.

It was this dynamic — among other issues — that forced the SACP and Cosatu into the arms of Jacob Zuma, whom they backed against Mbeki at the ANC conference in Polokwane in 2007.

The promised power and influence never materialised, with Zuma favouring his friends and his kitchen cabinet rather than the alliance, and both parties went on to join the calls for his recall.

The advent of Cyril Ramaphosa’s ANC presidency in 2017 improved relations, but the party’s decision to enter a government of national unity with the Democratic Alliance 

and the Freedom Front Plus after losing its majority on 29  May appears to have pushed the SACP to the brink of going it alone.

The SACP has threatened to do so before, registering with the Electoral Commission of South Africa, but this intent to contest the 2026 local government elections is real.

The SACP is asking important questions of itself but, like the other parties busy with political activities this week — and those threatening to walk out of the government of national unity — it should also be asking itself what material benefit its decisions will bring to those it will be asking to vote for the party come the 2026 local government elections.

It is this issue — and not theatrics and manoeuvring for proximity to power — that should be topping the SACP’s agenda this week.

Reports by the Daily Maverick and News24 have alleged that our new human settlements minister has benefited from illicit kickbacks. 

The details of how she profited are shocking. As mayor of Polokwane in 2018, she reportedly spent 569% more than her disclosed annual income. She wore the trappings of a story with which we are sadly familiar: luxury bags, expensive cars and family holidays.

Yet President Cyril Ramaphosa decided to fall back on the failsafe reshuffle button, replacing her as justice minister this week but not firing her.

Our leader, for all his executive power, has still not escaped the labyrinth of party politics — which is too often prioritised ahead of national politics. That is the only conclusion we can draw when confronted with the confounding events of this week.

Voters punished the ANC for this very behaviour in May. By stripping its previously invulnerable majority, the message was clear that the petty chicanery that has dominated public discussions for so long would no longer be tolerated.

But the hope that it would listen or would be forced to comply by the dynamics of the government of national unity (GNU) now appears naive. It has yet to shed its skin. 

If we are to move forward as a country then it must be compelled to do so. 

We are not a normal country because we are riddled with contradictions. We have spoken ad nauseam on these pages about the strength of our institutions and the distinct separation of our powers. But blatant political moves always arrive to undermine that assessment. How robust is a democracy if its leader is beholden to forces other than the people he serves?

The allegations against Simelane represent the betrayal of trust that has so often haunted us. Which is why such allegations are so infuriating to so many people, people who have seen power and privilege routinely abused with impunity.

Ramaphosa must, through public demand or GNU nudging, be pressured into severing the tether that still connects him to agenda-based decision-making. 

It is clear he will not do so of his own volition.

Impeachment is inevitably a political choice. 

Even if the ANC spared Ramaphosa for political reasons, rather than the delicate legal reservations advanced in by his advocates, the EFF’s application has the equally political purpose of cutting short his second term. Ramaphosa tried to take the report of the Ngcobo panel on legal review in December 2022 precisely to future-proof his presidency against attempts like this to revive it.

He was denied direct access, and this week’s observations from the judges about the implausibility of his version of what happened at Phala Phala were a reminder that even if he survives again, he can never escape the stigma of the money hidden in his sofa and his security detail’s outlaw efforts to recover it. But the case raises questions about the parameters of the parliamentary process for removing a sitting president that are worth answering.

Much has been written about the dangers of inviting courts to the terrain of other arms of the state — and the sternest warnings have been written by the judges themselves. The angriest objection came from former chief justice  Mogoeng Mogoeng in the EFF case where the constitutional court ordered parliament to adopt specific rules for impeachment.

Mogoeng dissented from the majority for fear that intervention risked rendering an eventual impeachment process rigid, the same risk that confronts the court today.

The current case is a sign of both the youth of our democracy and of its resilience. 

There is caution in the fact the courts are so often asked to intervene, but comfort in the fact that the constitutional space in which they can curb the excesses of the executive remains intact.

Elsewhere in the world, the guardrails of democracy are being dismantled.

US lawmakers are coming face to face with Donald Trump’s contempt for rule-following while the Knesset last year passed a law curtailing Israel’s supreme court’s authority to review the rationality of government and legislative decisions. 

This is the same power our courts exercise with restraint in cases like the one argued this week — and a thousand of other review applications launched since the end of apartheid. It must never be stripped away and ironically the populists seeking by any means to oust Ramaphosa, present litigation included, are most likely to attempt just that.

President Cyril Ramaphosa stood before his peers on the international stage at the G20 in Rio, Brazil, and called for the United Nations to remember its mandate to multilateral inclusivity. 

He specifically asked for it to prevent “the use of hunger as a weapon” in parts of the world such as Gaza and Sudan.

And yet in his own part of the world that is precisely what was done. We now know that police, as part of “Vala Umgodi”, sealed off the primary Buffelsfontein mine shaft, denying the illegal miners inside access to food and medical attention.

This was an attempt — in the grotesque words of Minister in the Presidency Khumbudzo Ntshavheni — to “smoke them out”.

Ramaphosa offered his usual anodyne diplomacy in his assessment of the situation, calling for lives to be protected but stopping short of criticising the “standard police practice”. He was also sure to remind us that this is a crime scene we’re dealing with. 

The obtuse, unempathetic response of our leaders has been one of the bigger disappointments of the saga. But even if we did the impossible and ignored the ethical blind spots, this should be considered a governance and policy failure.

Illegal mining has been ever-present in our democracy. Despite that fact, there is a dearth of legislation addressing artisanal and small mining projects, and of policy on resource-rich land that is discarded out of the portfolios of rich conglomerates. Every so often an incident makes it into the national headlines, sparking spurts of energy to finally address that shortcoming. But, as interest fades, that energy returns to the recesses of the public consciousness.

That pattern must be broken.

It is not a mystery why zama zamas are so prolific. Mining companies close down a shaft after it ceases to be profitable to extract resources from.

Typically this does not mean its resources have been depleted. As Sheree Bega reports on page  3, few mines are issued with closure certificates, leaving them abandoned and susceptible to criminality. The lack of regulatory intent invites gangs and syndicates to exploit the situation.

Most experts in the sector agree that South African policy fails the avenues beneath large-scale commercial mining, wasting the land’s wealth.

For instance Lunga Mzangwe, on pages 4 and 5, illustrates the far-reaching effects that a vast network of shafts such as that in the Stilfontein area can have on the local economy. The opportunity to formalise that potential is squandered by a system that has been too slow to change.

We must recognise that the solution to illegal mining doesn’t lie in inhumanely hunting down desperate people in an economy that doesn’t offer jobs. Let’s shed that myopia.

There is also discontent at the need to grovel for funds to deal with a problem that was created elsewhere. Yet, as always, when the United Nations Climate Change Conference (also known as COP) comes around, there is cautious optimism. 

Optimism that, just maybe, this year at COP29 in Baku, Azerbaijan, will be different. 

Maybe this year is the year legitimate deals will be struck to help fight climate change. Deals that will ensure money will reach those who are most vulnerable — but in a way that doesn’t entrench countries further in debt. 

This year’s event is dubbed the finance COP and, with good reason.  African countries, for example, are seeking $1.3  trillion in climate funding. 

The African group of negotiators believe the success of the event hinges on this. But there is an elephant in the room — the next sitting president of the United States, Donald Trump. 

In 2017, when he was last in the White House, Trump announced the US would withdraw from the Paris Agreement, a document signed by countries committing to fighting climate change. 

During his presidential campaign this year, Trump said he would again withdraw the US from the Paris climate agreement. 

He has also called climate change a scam and promoted fossil fuel production. 

The US ranks second globally for carbon emissions, behind China. 

The world cannot afford to increase fossil fuels anywhere. As a major carbon emitter the US needs to play an active role in fighting climate change and funding that fight. 

Trump could well undo climate policies in the US — and along with that a lot of good work that has already been achieved. US climate envoy John Podesta told COP29 that Trump may slow down climate work but will struggle to stop it. 

Yet there is little evidence that he will acquiesce to pledging funds to fight climate change, especially for the “shithole” countries as he did in his infamous 2018 sledge on African countries, Haiti and El Salvador.

The fight goes on, and developing nations will continue to do whatever it takes to battle this beast. 

Closer to home, the Mail & Guardian will, on 29 November, host Greening the Future soon, its environmental awards that honours those playing a crucial role in protecting the environment, particularly with the onslaught of climate change.

Over the years, the Mail & Guardian has visited several areas where people are bereft of the amenities most of us take for granted. In these places a flowing tap is a luxury too far, necessitating that people sometimes walk for hours to fetch water to drink, cook or bathe with. Their experiences are unfathomable to the city dweller. As just one example, in August we ran an article about Limpopo residents who have to confront crocodiles just to fill up their buckets.

But, the gross inequality notwithstanding, our country has found stability in the clean, consistent supply to urban areas. The tap water in our major cities is — usually without pause for thought — happily imbibed. Such is water’s ubiquity that many a Joburger and Capetonian see it as a political statement not to buy bottled water.

Our recent reporting, not to mention the Gauteng crisis staring at us all, makes us worry about that certainty. The trajectory we are on threatens to further divide South Africa along lines of access to the compound that is most critical to our existence.

Aarti Bhana writes about the rise of bottled water and refilling stations. With that comes an increase in harmful single-use plastics and suppliers that misrepresent what they sell. More importantly, the necessity for temporary measures is the knife that will slice open existing divisions.

We saw it during the electricity crisis. The wealthy were able to implement measures — solar panels, inverters — that were inaccessible to most people. 

Water now faces the same danger as it is hoarded in expensive tanks in rich suburbs. And if history has taught us anything, it is that inequality of opportunity compounds upon itself — our differences will only worsen. 

Sheree Bega also reports on the accusation that the department of water and sanitation has “dropped the ball” by not ensuring the Drop reports were released on time.

This is a critical failing. We rely on the systems and institutions around water to ensure its equitable distribution. If they are not able to adequately diagnose the problem, we have no hope of it being remedied.

This is not the first or the last editorial we’ll write on our country’s resource disparities. We’re driven by the hope that one day the rural areas we visit will have running taps like our own Joburg offices. But that hope will become a delusion if our society is stratified any further.

In October, six children died in Naledi, Soweto, after apparently consuming organophosphate — a pesticide that Health Minister Aaron Motsoaledi has theorised is being used to kill rodents.

Arrests have been made, and officials have stepped in to investigate. But no legal consequence will bring back the children.

This won’t be the last time such a tragedy unfolds. And, as with similar episodes, the public response seems poised to follow a predictable script. 

Blame will be assigned — often indiscriminately — while certain politicians, sensing an opportunity, will leap to exploit public outrage.

But in the rush to cast blame, particularly on foreign-owned spaza shops, we overlook a crucial point: this tragedy is not unique to any one kind of store.

Across social media, we hear cries of “they are killing our children,” echoing through hashtags and tweets that rally social blame. This fuels existing sentiments of xenophobia. And it can be dangerous when members of the public take the matter into their own hands, destroying spaza shops. In one instance, an owner died.

The media too reports on cases where children fall ill, or die, without interrogating the facts and merely accept at face value the words of government officials.

Self-righteous indignation flares, fingers point, and then the outrage fades until the next crisis, with little attention to the pervasive issues that could prevent these tragedies.

Let us not forget that informal traders such as street vendors and spaza shops are in a sense kitchens and fridges for people in townships and can’t afford to travel to formal retailers or the prices they charge.

South Africa has developed a dangerous rhythm — a march from one crisis to the next, one headline to the next, without taking the necessary pause to address root causes.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

The cycle of tainted food, illness and in some instances death can be interrupted. It doesn’t require monumental resources. What it does demand is a commitment to enforcing the regulations already in place. Food safety standards, building codes and transport regulations exist to protect the public.

Officials have allowed neglect to fester, with tragic results. Safety becomes a function of influence, and citizens are left to bear the cost.

We have seen the consequences all too often: children killed in crashes involving overloaded, poorly maintained taxis. Leaders offer funeral funds instead of meaningful change.

We owe it to every child, to every family, to do what we can to uphold the laws that protect them. Until we begin to value this collective responsibility and educate each other on its importance, we can only expect more of the same — preventable tragedies.

President Cyril Ramaphosa was at the Brics Summit in Kazan, Russia. President Vladimir Putin ratcheted up talk about greatly expanding the body, re­igniting debates about its purpose and potential as a new global hegemonic power.

Back home, meanwhile, the department of international relations was at the crease batting away questions about its demand on Taiwan to relocate its offices out of Pretoria and into Johannesburg. 

In these choppy waters, does South Africa risk drifting away from its proud, proclaimed non-alignment stance? Despite loud complaints to the contrary, the answer is no. 

What we’re witnessing is the stolid diplomatic dance we have become so accustomed to.

Questions must rightly be asked of the sudden command of Taiwan to move house — and more importantly, China’s apparent ability to command us on a whim. 

But the news is not extraordinary in the context of a world where only a handful of small countries recognise Taiwan’s status as one itself. 

The fact that the office in question is called the Taipei Liaison Office in South Africa tells us all we need to know about where ties have stood since 1997 — when the formerly rosy, apartheid-era relations were cut.

The same can be said of Ramaphosa’s decorous statement of friendship in Russia. It’s understandable why it might be unpalatable for some, but the reality is that he has not committed to a new position one way or the other. 

Putin would love to peddle the idea that a new strategic alliance is being birthed in the castle halls of Kazan. As Emsie Ferreira reports on Page 3, that is unlikely, for a number of reasons. 

It is a narrative that is ironically largely powered by fear-mongering.

John Steenhuisen’s outrage would have us believe differently. And yet we are still to see any practical challenges from him or the Democratic Alliance. 

Ahead of elections, none of the party’s seven priorities in its manifesto touched on foreign relations. Diplomacy, like politics, is so often about posturing.

There is a warning, however. Non-aligned does not mean non-principled. 

In our rapidly shifting world, our country’s leaders must consistently re-evaluate South Africa’s position and adjust accordingly. The diplomatic dance is now being done over eggshells, where every handshake and photograph is scrutinised down to the last pixel.

When the music stops, South Africa must not forget where it stands.

What South Africans want is honesty from politicians, water utilities and municipalities.

The truth is often uncomfortable but it is essential to give an accurate prognosis. South Africans need the facts delivered in plain language so that we can act upon them.

Some areas in Johannesburg experience extended periods without water. The typical communication simply states that the demand is too high, the towers can’t fill up and there is not enough water to pump. Often after the event.

This leaves people angry and uncertain. The protests this week in the Joburg suburb of Westdene are a testament to this. 

Isn’t it time lessons were learned from the power crisis? Clear communications in the form of energy updates were given by Electricity Minister Kgosientsho Ramokgopa. 

The popular app Eskom Se Push notified people of when there would be no power by using real-time data. There is value in these devices and other forms of communication. They help people understand what they’re facing. 

It’s been more than 200 days since we had any power cuts. The deliberate focus on solving an energy crisis has helped turn things around.

The water and sanitation department can learn from all this. 

It can also learn from Cape Town’s actions — and residents’ reactions — when Day Zero approached. Tell the people why they have no water, explain what’s being done to fix it and how long it will take. 

Be open and frank about the infrastructure issues. Communicate effectively by, for example, helping people understand what non-revenue water means. Fix what is broken and provide information such as timelines. And put in place a strong infrastructure maintenance plan.

The media could also be criticised for not always talking with specificity. “Day Zero” was a term designated for a particular time and place. As many experts in the sector have pointed out, using it as a catch-all crisis term is not productive — despite how alarming that crisis undoubtedly is.

But water users must also take responsibility; it doesn’t only rest in the hands of the authorities.

Ultimately, the water is flowing through our taps. We have a responsibility to be mindful of our usage and comply with water regulations. Joburg has had a water level one restriction in place for a long time but do people comply?

But that point again circles back to messaging. The City of Cape Town deserves credit for instilling a sense of pride in residents for being part of the solution to Day Zero. That is not likely to happen in other critical areas until its people are addressed frankly.

The amnesty was in line with the Firearms Control Act, promulgated in 2000 by then president Thabo Mbeki. 

A cursory look at the country’s murder rate shows that, in the period covering the arms amnesty, the murder rate dropped from a steep 38 killings per 100  000 people to an all-time low — in the democratic era — of 29.8 deaths per 100  000. 

As of November last year, 13 years since the end of the first amnesty and two years after the paltry six-month reprieve of illegal firearms parliament approved in January 2021, the murder rates have soared to 45.33 per 100  000 people, the fourth-highest death rates in the world, as recorded by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime. 

It is apparent that there is a correlation between the proliferation of dangerous weapons and soaring death figures. 

This brings us to the 27  September killing of 18 members of a family in Lusikisiki in the Eastern Cape, one of four of the country’s most violent provinces. 

Police Minister Senzo Mchunu — in the days after the attack, during those inevitable political posturing visits to an affected area, where nothing but platitudes of “we’re shocked, never again” are uttered — detailed how the assailants “took their time” in committing the murders, using several illegal weapons. 

With it being obvious that the government has failed to stem the flow of illegal firearms, it emerged on Wednesday that one of the alleged killers, who was arrested this week, had previous convictions for escaping custody and murder, the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA) stated. 

“He is currently out on parole,” the NPA said, adding that it would oppose bail, with no sense of irony of why a violent criminal was out in the first place. 

What is evident is that when the state was proactive in reducing the spread of guns, there was a notable decrease in murder rates. 

But, for as long as the government remains lethargic in both stemming dangerous weapons and ensuring violent criminals remain locked up, the Lusikisiki massacre and others like it will remain a feature of South African life.