Politicians love a good free funeral

Share current article via Email Share current article via Facebook Share current article via Twitter Share current article via LinkedIn Criticising the government for using taxpayers' money to pay funeral costs for families who've lost loved ones may sound a bit callous or insensitive, but it would seem death has become the latest boon for politicians. Funerals of especially prominent individuals are granted so-called special official status — which means the government foots the bill — with such eager readiness it's almost become a scam. And the beneficiaries of these freebies or handouts are often people or families who are well-to-do enough to easily afford these ostentatious funerals. Rarely do the authorities come to the aid of the poor or somebody living in a squatter camp with the offer to bury their dead. Except, of course, in a case where people had perished in a disaster. Then government officials will rush in promising to do and pay for everything. It's the publicity that's the allure. They're drawn to it like moths to a flame. In rural areas where roads are often impassable, the only attention people receive is when there's a bereavement in the area. Then a grader will be dispatched to fix the road, or a tanker sent to bring much-needed water. If the rutted byway has been levelled, then you know there's either a death in the vicinity or some party or government bigwig is visiting. Otherwise, people are left to their own devices. The honour of being buried at the state's expense often goes to politicians, their wealthy friends or anybody famous enough to attract the necessary publicity. The bereaved family is obviously happy (who'd say no to a free lunch?), not only for the free and dignified burial but also for the honour bestowed on their loved one. It's a feather in the family's cap. The government is therefore viewed by the community not only as compassionate but also as being able to deal with one of its most bothersome bugbears — service delivery. It's at least seen to be doing something useful for the community. And who in their right mind would criticise the government for doing the right thing? The only downside for the family is that it loses control of the proceedings. It's allowed to make a few speeches upfront before organs of state and the politicians take over. He who pays the piper calls the tune, I guess. The police will spend time doing arcane rituals which could leave most of the mourners a bit befuddled. It's all part of the drill, apparently. Then the politicians will deliver their tediously long speeches, often paying fulsome tribute to someone they hardly knew. As in every venture undertaken by this government, some of the money ends up in their pockets But in the bigger scheme of things, the speeches don't really matter. Nobody remembers a word they say. It's the publicity or exposure the politicians are after, and the more famous or prominent the deceased the better. After the proceedings at the graveyard, the national flag which has been draping the coffin is folded with all solemnity and handed to the widow or a member of the family by the premier, in the case of a special provincial funeral. (There was that awkward moment during Archbishop Desmond Tutu's funeral service almost five years ago when his widow, Leah, refused to accept the flag from President Cyril Ramaphosa. It was eventually handed to a woman sitting next to her.) Thereafter, the mourners, weary and hungry, make their way to the house or the marquee, where they gorge on a copious supply of food and drink, all paid for by the taxpayer. Given the frenetic lives people lead these days, funerals have almost become networking events. They could meet long-lost friends, relatives they haven't seen for years, or even make new acquaintances. In some instances, people, even some who hadn't been at the funeral, would afterwards rock up with cooler boxes brimming with booze, and a good time would be had by all. It's the so-called after-tears, a new and uniquely South African phenomenon where alcohol is supposed to soften or dull the pain of losing a loved one. No wonder politicians are always looking for opportunities to fund funerals. They're sad events, and people are always grateful for any help they can get. And with graver issues on their minds, they are unlikely to be on their guard for any political spin. By doling out the money and the charm, politicians make a good impression and reap the rewards without being seen to be politicking or selling a line. Mourners therefore become sitting ducks. At the funeral of the former two-time world boxing champion Zolani Tete in Mdantsane last Saturday — it was an official provincial funeral, which means the government paid for it — one of the MECs was so eager to be seen she kept interjecting, almost usurping the MC's duties. And the acting premier made the obligatory speech. It later turned out the ANC had the next day used the same venue and the same marquee to launch its manifesto for the November 4 elections. All the officials involved strenuously denied that government resources had been utilised to pay for an ANC event, but it was as plain as the nose on one's face. The reason politicians are so eager to pay for other people's funerals is because, as in every venture undertaken by this government, some of the money ultimately ends up in their pockets. Often politicians will have their own preferred or dedicated event organisers who are in on the plan. They know what percentage is supposed to go to their political benefactors should they get the job. At a funeral I attended a few years ago, the MEC overseeing arrangements chose a catering company only to discover that the premier had already picked another. So what were they supposed to do? They both had to 'eat'. They reached a compromise: both outfits would do the job. Which meant the state ended up paying twice for the same service. The need in this country is so vast and acute the government shouldn't be wasting scarce resources nannying people who can easily afford their own burial.