100 days of nothing

In politics we have now passed 100 days of the government of national unity and it is fair to ask how our ministers of education have performed.

Of course, this is far too short a time to make concrete assessments of how effective two neophyte politicians in education have been.

On the other hand, it is enough time to gain a sense of where they might go in the next 1,000 days or until this arranged marriage (the GNU sausage) comes to end.

What we can all agree on is that neither the minister of basic education, Siviwe Gwarube, nor higher education counterpart Nobuhle Nkabane have achieved anything at all.

They are not sport, arts and culture minister Gayton Mackenzie when it comes to flair and opportunism; imagine stealing the thunder of the 2024 Rugby champions by diving in front of the celebrating Springboks just as the trophy is lifted and the fireworks go off in the background!

Formula 1 is coming back, apparently, and every child will do sport.

Nor can they claim eye-popping victories like home affairs minister Leon Scriber, whose department cleared a backlog of 247,500 ID applications in one month (really makes you wonder what his predecessors were doing before this miracle).

Gwarube came out swinging when first appointed and promised the curriculum will be reviewed (again).

Us education specialists rolled our eyes. But then things turned nasty.

Treasury said there was no money and provinces announced budget cuts, which meant the imminent loss of thousands of teacher jobs.

The teacher unions smelt blood and all of the minister’s attention was pulled into this most unpleasant and unglamorous of things to do — negotiate with unions, placate the profession, calm the political waters.

If only she had the equivalent of a rugby championship to celebrate or mass ID books to process.

It was a missed opportunity, the first 100 days.

A sensible minister of basic education would have said three simple things and her name would have been etched in history.

One, I will redirect all of my political energies and financial resources to building the strongest education system in the foundation phase.

Two, I will ensure every child in a South African classroom has a teacher and a textbook for every subject in the curriculum.

Three, I will require and monitor that teachers attend school every day, and in the process reduce by half the calamitous loss of instructional time (more than 400 hours a month in some schools) every week.

Three things that are achievable but lack the political direction and effective management from our national and provincial education departments.

Truth is, in the past 100 days, Garuwe has missed more shots at the posts than Mannie Libbok in the Springbok jersey.

I had three hours to kill waiting for a late flight home from Johannesburg to Cape Town.

That whole day I was miffed because a senior official in the department of higher education had called me to a meeting in Gauteng but did not show up (this happens all the time in government); I had to wake up at 4am for a 6am flight.

In the airport lounge, as usually happens in public spaces, people greet you. “Hello Prof!” or “You taught me at university” or “I enjoyed your new book”. Stuff like that.

So when the tall man standing next to me greeted me, I returned the greeting and continued to go get some coffee.

But when I returned, the tall greeter was upset: “I greeted you and you did not come to me.”

Bloody cheek, I thought to myself. Why? Who are you?

“I am adviser to the minister of higher education.” No ways.

Then I let rip and told him what a miserable job his department was doing; how they disrespected university leaders and the professoriate by appointing junior people and non-academics to political portfolios concerned with higher education.

Then, a young and beautiful woman seated nearby stretched out her hand to greet me and said: “No Prof. It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” I rattled on, “one of your senior people in the department invited senior academics to a meeting and decided to go elsewhere”.

“You don’t serve the people,” I told her; “you serve yourselves”.

By this time my coffee was cold.

Later, the same young woman came to sit next to me and said: “Prof, I need you to help me fix higher education.” Now I was really miffed. “Why? Who are you?”

“I am your minister of higher education,” she said.

I apologised for not recognising her and offered to help.

She instructed the tall bloke to send me an invitation to speak to vice-chancellors the next Friday. I will be there.

When I eventually got home near midnight, the minister shared her email address and I committed to changing my diary for national service.

Weeks later, I am still waiting for a response.