South African policy romanticism
The blind belief that laws will function precisely as they are described in official documents, without considering historical precedent, human incentives, or just simply the reality of South Africa.
If South Africa had a national sport beyond rugby and complaining about Eskom, it would be the relentless crafting of ambitious policy documents that promise sweeping reform, only to achieve the exact opposite of what they intended.
The Expropriation Act, recently signed into law, is just the latest example of this chronic affliction.
Defenders of the Act insist that it allows for expropriation with nil compensation (because that’s apparently different from no compensation) only under strict conditions and through legal processes. They scoff at critics, saying the law will not lead to Zimbabwe-style land seizures or widespread economic devastation. Yet history offers little comfort.
This is not South Africa’s first rodeo when it comes to well-meaning legislation turning into an unmitigated disaster. We have seen this script before. Broad-Based Black Economic Empowerment wasn’t supposed to enrich a politically connected elite while leaving the majority of black South Africans locked out of real economic empowerment—but it did. The Labour Relations Act wasn’t meant to hamstring employment and create an economic underclass, but it did. Eskom wasn’t meant to become the dysfunctional, load-shedding behemoth it is today, yet here we are.
The entire purpose of policy analysis is to judge not by stated intent but by outcome—something woefully absent in South African discourse.
South Africa’s Policy Romanticism
The Expropriation Act is a prime example of what I call policy romanticism—the blind belief that laws will function precisely as they are described in official documents, without considering historical precedent, human incentives, or just simply the reality of South Africa.
Consider the case of land reform more broadly. South Africa has already reformed large amounts of land through existing redistribution policies, yet the government has consistently failed to redistribute it efficiently, productively or sustainably. Studies have shown that much of the land transferred under previous land reform programmes lies fallow, due to lack of support, poor planning, and state mismanagement. If the state cannot successfully distribute land it already controls, why should we trust it to wield even more power responsibly?
The Legal vs. Political Reality
Defenders of the Expropriation Act point to the fact that it establishes a legal framework and so-called checks and balances. But laws do not exist in isolation; they function within a broader political and institutional ecosystem. And that ecosystem, in South Africa, is deeply compromised.
The legal framework of the Act might to them seem airtight today (which it certainly isn’t), but what happens when a future government—perhaps one with stronger RET, MK or EFF influence—decides to reinterpret those supposed “strict conditions”? The notion that expropriation will be used only in “limited cases” is meaningless when political pressure can redefine what those “limited cases” entail, and when the limited cases are not a closed list of things.
We have seen how laws designed with guardrails are easily manipulated. Consider the Preferential Procurement Policy Framework Act, originally meant to give historically disadvantaged businesses a leg-up in state contracts. Over time, it became a tool for grand-scale looting, resulting in subpar infrastructure, skyrocketing costs, and the feeding-frenzy of politically connected tenderpreneurs.
Given this history, why should we believe that the Expropriation Act will be immune to similar distortions?
South Africa’s “Plan Syndrome”
One of the most persistent illusions in South African governance is the belief that drafting a policy equates to solving a problem. Government produces National Development Plans, White Papers, and strategy documents at an industrial scale. Yet, the country remains mired in economic stagnation, infrastructure decay, and declining state capacity.
The pattern is familiar: government identifies a legitimate social or economic issue, drafts an ambitious plan to fix it, and then watches as the plan either collapses under the weight of bureaucratic inefficiency or gets repurposed as a tool for patronage.
This pattern repeats itself across sectors. South Africa drafts laws as if the act of legislating is itself an intervention. There is little follow-through, no accountability for failure, and no adjustment when reality does not conform to the theoretical model. Here is the bureaucratic iron law of policy-making—an affliction that all policy-makers the world over are prone to. The assumption is that policies function in a vacuum, rather than in the messy, incentive-driven world of human behaviour.
Take the Electricity Act 41 of 1987, which explicitly states that the utility must “ensure order in the generation and efficient supply of electricity.” If policy intent mattered more than execution, South Africa should have the most reliable power supply in Africa. When it is put in simple terms—having power or not—the notion that policy doesn’t equal action becomes clear. If anyone told you the solution to Eskom was another plan, you’d laugh in their face.
The same logic applies to the Expropriation Act. Its defenders can point to legal provisions, procedural safeguards, and government assurances all they like, but at its core, the issue is straightforward: will the law strengthen property rights and economic stability, or will it weaken them? Just as Eskom was never meant to deliver rolling blackouts, the Expropriation Act is not meant to lead to widespread land seizures or the loss of investor confidence. But policy in South Africa is not about what it is meant to do—it is about what it will do when exposed to political pressures, bureaucratic inefficiency, or just plain human nature.
If a government cannot keep the lights on despite laws that require it to do so, why should we believe that it will expropriate land fairly, efficiently, and without an economic downside? Eskom and the Expropriation Act, though different in scope, illustrate the same fundamental problem: in South Africa, laws are written with high ideals but implemented with low competence and disregard for their consequences.
Why Good Intentions Fail
So what should South Africa do differently? There are three primary reasons why South African policies consistently fall short of their intended outcomes.
Firstly, the absence of incentives and enforcement. Governance is not a spreadsheet exercise. It is a matter of institutions, enforcement, and political will. Without the right incentives, even the best-designed policies will fail. Without consequences for failure, the downward spiral continues.
Take crime and policing. The government routinely announces new crime-combating strategies, yet crime rates remain among the highest in the world. The reason is simple: policy pronouncements do not translate into effective policing. Officers lack resources, leadership is weak, and corruption erodes public trust. The incentive structures within the security apparatus reward political loyalty over competence, and no amount of policy drafting can override that reality. Only accountable leadership can do that.
Secondly, many of South Africa’s worst policy failures stem from a belief in centralisation—that problems are best solved by bureaucrats in Pretoria rather than by those on the ground. The BELA Bill is a prime example. While its stated aim is to standardise education policy and improve school governance, one of its key provisions would give provincial education departments the final say over school language policies and admissions criteria.
The practical effect of this would be to weaken well-functioning schools by subjecting them to bureaucratic interference. Schools that have managed to maintain high standards—often through strong local governance—would find their autonomy eroded. This is not a hypothetical risk; it is a pattern. The centralisation of power has already hollowed out municipalities, many of which are now dysfunctional. The more Pretoria interferes, the worse the outcomes seem to be.
Thirdly, South Africa suffers from a lack of policy learning and adaptation. In functioning democracies, policy failures prompt course corrections. When a law does not achieve its intended effect, it is revised or repealed. In South Africa, however, failed policies tend to be expanded rather than reformed. Instead of recognising that BBBEE has morphed into a system of patronage, the response is often to double down on racial quotas and compliance requirements. Instead of acknowledging that labour regulations discourage job creation, policymakers propose even stricter employment laws.
This inability to adapt stems from a political culture in which admitting failure is equated with ideological betrayal. When ideology trumps pragmatism, bad policies persist long after their flaws have been exposed.
The Power of Action Over Planning
This disconnect between policy and execution has led to growing public disillusionment with government-driven solutions. People are increasingly looking elsewhere for real-world results—and turning to organisations that bypass red tape and get things done.
That’s why groups like AfriForum (despite the commentator class’s objections), Gift of the Givers, and your local City Improvement District (CID) are so popular. They are the doers of deeds (to borrow from Roosevelt’s famous speech). They don’t waste time theorising about what should work, they simply act. Whether it’s drilling boreholes and fixing potholes, delivering disaster relief when government fails, or ensuring streets are clean and safe, these organisations succeed because they operate outside the paralysis of bureaucracy.
The same principle applies to municipalities. Cape Town, Drakenstein, Stellenbosch, and Midvaal fare considerably better than most other municipalities, despite having to work within the same legislative frameworks as the majority of dysfunctional ones. The difference? A focus on doing. While many of these municipalities have sound policies, they understand that the proof of the pudding is in the doing—efficient service delivery, infrastructure maintenance, and local governance that prioritises action over endless plans.
Conclusion
The real lesson here is simple: South Africa doesn’t have a policy problem—it has an execution problem. And until that changes, no plan, no matter how well-intended, will ever fix what’s broken. It is time South Africans and particularly bureaucrats and politicians stop judging policy by its stated intent and start analysing it based on its outcomes.
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Spot on.