South Africa, land of sun, braais, and economic policies that make a municipal tender process look like a Mensa test.
This week, Parliament got treated to a horror show more terrifying than load-shedding in a hospital ICU. Treasury, in its infinite wisdom — and by wisdom, I mean “something between guesswork and a dare” — is seriously considering hiking VAT again. Yes. Because when you’re staring down the barrel of a R377bn budget shortfall, the best idea is clearly: “Let’s squeeze the people who already can’t afford two-ply toilet paper.”
Let me paint the scene.
You’ve got 60% of South Africans living on R27 a day. That’s less than the price of a sachet of Nescafé and a dry chicken wing. But sure, let’s increase VAT on bread and milk — because obviously the poor are hoarding wealth like Nkandla’s fire pool hoards rainwater.
MPs Get a Grim Message: It’s You, Hi, You’re the Problem, It’s You
In an awkward moment of clarity, members of Parliament were told straight up: “Hey, so about that VAT hike — it’s going to hit the poor the hardest.” Shock. Horror. Confusion. Because clearly, this is the first time anyone in government has ever heard of the concept of regressive taxation. You know, the kind that takes a bigger bite out of the poor than it does the rich — like if SARS was a hungry pitbull with a taste for minimum wage earners.
But don’t worry, the well-heeled elite and their second homes in Camps Bay are totally fine. Because when you own a company registered in Mauritius and have a Range Rover on lease, what’s a 1% VAT hike? An inconvenience, not a crisis. Meanwhile, Auntie Doreen in Khayelitsha has to decide between buying bread or paying the taxi fare to her minimum wage job in retail. But sure — tax her.
The Parliamentary Budget Office Unleashes the Kraken
In what can only be described as an act of economic exorcism, the Parliamentary Budget Office took Treasury’s VAT hike proposal and shredded it harder than an audit report at the ANC’s headquarters. They said, in as many academic words: “This is dumb.” Because, and this is a direct quote (okay, not really, but spiritually accurate): “You can’t fix your budget crisis by taxing the people most affected by it. That’s not a strategy, it’s just trauma with a spreadsheet.”
They even pointed out the one thing nobody in government ever wants to talk about: cutting wasteful spending. Which is rich — because South Africa’s budget has more fat than a slapchip parcel at midnight. Ministerial mansions. Blue light convoys. VIP protection for people who couldn’t be trusted with a USB stick, never mind a budget.
You know what isn’t getting cut? The R6 billion we somehow found for an unaffordable, morally bankrupt friendship bracelet with Russia called “nuclear readiness.” Eskom can’t even keep the lights on for 4 hours straight, but we’re out here pricing uranium like it’s on sale at Checkers.
So What’s the Plan?
Apparently, there are two options:
1. Raise VAT and pretend it’s “for the greater good.”
2. Make the rich pay more.
Guess which one they’re going with? Spoiler: it’s not option two.
Because, and let’s be honest here, South Africa’s rich didn’t claw their way to wealth through fair taxation — they had BEE scorecards, offshore accounts, and a Rolodex full of comrades. The only thing that trickled down from them was disdain and, maybe, used golf clubs.
Meanwhile, small businesses — you know, the folks who actually employ people — are freaking out. They’re not worried about making a profit anymore. They’re worried about surviving one more policy decision from a government that thinks economics is a vibes-based science.
Final Thought:
If VAT goes up, we won’t be closing the budget gap — we’ll be widening the trust gap. The one between government and people. Between promises and delivery. Between the South Africa that could be and the South Africa that still feels like 1994, just with more Instagram filters.
But sure. Go ahead. Raise VAT. Just don’t be surprised when the next “public consultation” turns into a public riot — because even the most patient citizen eventually runs out of bread. And this time, there’ll be no cake.
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