There is an Afrikaans word: “moedeloos”.

Officially the English translation is “hopeless”. However, it isn’t quite the right translation. “Moedeloos” (for me at least) is a little less … well, hopeless. It is more a feeling of discouragement or even forlornness,  which is exactly the way I felt this last week about life in general and things in the country specifically.

It was a slightly odd feeling since I don’t, as a rule, give in to being “moedeloos”. I am, in the words of the former Irish president Mary Robinson, a realistic optimist. Realistic, because I’m not naïve. I have a really good grip on what is going on – and since I work mostly with politics and politicians  - specifically the darker side of life. 

Optimist, because through years of experience, I have learnt that things usually work out. That the pendulum swings back just when you think it won’t. 

Most importantly, I also know that a lot of the political drama is basically theatre  - not to be taken too seriously.

However, this last week things felt differently.

Arrest after arrests happened (I counted 17 over a few days).

Of course, I have had no illusion about the extent of corruption and state capture that took place. I mean, you would have had to be hibernating for the last five years not to have known that large-scale stealing was going on.

Yet, as the stories of the arrests and the crimes associated with it rolled in against the background of the ongoing daily exposes at the Zondo Commission, I felt my mood growing darker. 

The storming of the Senekal police station last Wednesday made me even more concerned. As much as I have (like all South Africans) an ongoing concern about the murder rate in this country and especially the level of cruelty, it really worries me when people think that they can take the law into their own hands, fuelled on by some opportunistic organisations and people. I also knew how dangerous this could be for race relations.

“Maybe things are really falling apart”, I whispered to myself around 3 am during yet another sleepless night.

Then, after a week of “moedeloosheid”, I read a beautiful piece by DA MP Phumzile van Damme. It is part of a book called, “Should we go? To emigrate or not: 21 voices speak their mind”.

She writes honestly about her personal challenges and then says: “(Yet) with every move I make, I am driven by a deep love for the people of South Africa…” 

There was the “Ah-ha!” moment. I realised that I had made the mistake that I always counsel my clients to avoid. I had temporarily forgotten to look at the bigger picture. Instead, I had started to fixate on individual cases.

Of course this country of ours is exasperating, annoying, frustrating, and infuriating. And when you focus on each case of corruption, murder, and cruelty, it is very easy to lose hope. 

Yet, when you look at the bigger picture there is also much to celebrate.

Yes, the arrests show just how much corruption there was (and most probably still is). Yet, when you take a step back you realise that it is also evidence of a president who is winning with his anti-corruption drive and that the legal system is starting to kick back into recovery gear after years of abuse under the Zuma regime.

Yes, the Senekal murder is a terrible tragedy, but the suspects were caught. The minister went there and a new plan for rural safety has been put on the table, etc. So one has to acknowledge that it is indicative of a responsive government and that we might just finally see an improvement in rural safety.

But perhaps the biggest mistake is when we leave our fate, and more importantly, our hope in the hands of the politicians.

Phumzile writes about the things that inspire her to stay and keep on fighting. She writes:

“I find my energy in a six-year-old dancing in the streets of her suburb. I find my strength in Saray Khumalo summiting Mount Everest as the first black African woman. My hope rises with the voices of the Ndlovu Youth Choir; my passion is reignited by brief encounters of kindness with strangers.”

She continues: “An interaction becomes a moment that becomes an experience that becomes a memory. A memory transforms into a narrative that creates the archive. Every single act becomes part of this country’s foundation.”

How true. 

The way to allow hope to prevail over “moedeloosheid” is to make every interaction count, because ultimately it should not and must not be the politicians and civil servants who write the narrative of this country. It is we the people, the individuals who jointly determine what the future of our country should look like. 

This realisation is not only hope-giving, but also enormous empowering.