Poetic licence

South Africa has always known how to dress up a scandal, tuxedos on thieves, designer gowns on deceit. But even by our standards, the gift of a diamond from an alleged Ponzi schemer to the Deputy President’s wife is a little too on the nose. A diamond, nogal. From Louis Liebenberg, the so-called diamond kingpin, whose wealth sparkles with so much suspicion. And Paul Mashatile, our number two in command, did not declare it.

For that oversight, Parliament's ethics committee slapped him with a R10,000 fine. A slap on the wrist? No. A tickle on the palm. A nod and a wink in the language of powerful men who know that consequences are for the governed, not the governors.

Let us not pretend this is about a single undeclared trinket. This is about proximity. About Mashatile’s apparent comfort in the company of Louis Liebenberg, a man standing accused of fleecing working-class South Africans through an alleged diamond Ponzi scheme so elaborate it deserves its own Netflix series. A man who has been coddled by the courts, offering bail theatrics and planning to drag 55 witnesses into his circus of delay.

It’s not just guilt by association. It’s association with guilt.

Liebenberg isn’t just some eccentric mining mogul. He is the embodiment of the state’s selective blindness: able to mine millions while millions go hungry. A man who hosted parties dripping with Champagne and political elites, even as his investors wept into empty bank statements. In his orbit, Mashatile found not shame, but a gift.

Even his people are done with him. A woman named Tanya Liebenberg, with no confirmed relation, launched a petition on 30 July calling for no bail for Louis Liebenberg. When even parts of the Afrikaner community are saying “enough,” it begs the question: what does the Deputy President still see in him?

And Mashatile? He’s not just the Deputy President. He’s the would-be stabiliser of a teetering ANC, the man some see as next in line. And yet, his taste in associates suggests he’s already made peace with the rot. This is a man who declares R65 million in mansions on a salary that shouldn’t buy one. A man who plays house in Constantia and Waterfall while telling the rest of us to wait for the fruits of transformation.

There’s something about diamonds in South African politics. They carry the weight of our history, from Kimberley’s deep scars to Schabir Shaik’s sparkle on Zuma’s wrist. They are never just stones. They are currency of favour, of access, of betrayal.

The Mashatile-Liebenberg affair may not bring down a government. But it chisels away at what little faith remains. It confirms the gnawing suspicion that behind every polished politician is a grubby benefactor, waiting in the wings with an untraceable gift.

Ten thousand rand? That's the price of ethics now.

We should be worried. Not just about the diamonds that go undeclared, but the deals that are yet to see daylight.

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