Who do you feel sorry for? There are so many losers in the Shaik drama, you have a bizarrely wide choice of actors on which to foist your regrets.

Starting with the least obvious, what about the judge, Hilary Squires? Eight months of arduous work and a finely tuned judgment efficiently disposed of in a few tendentious comments by our 30-years-olds in the African National Congress (ANC) and South African Communist Party “youth” leagues. It’s a pity, but really, we have come to expect no less. I think Squires will roll with those particular punches without undue pain or regret.

What about President Thabo Mbeki? He has the unrelenting duty of leadership. His choice is profoundly difficult, and perhaps worthy of, if not pity, at least empathy. I profoundly feel for the unforgiving onus but I must confess a personal bias.

A few years ago, a freelance colleague, Paul Kirk, and I wrote a series of stories premised on the possibility that the arms deal report drawn up mainly by the auditor-general was watered down before it was released. The stories were based on documents pried out of the auditor-general’s office after a lengthy court battle by jilted contractor Richard Young. At that time the documents just lifted the corner on what later turned into a flood of revelations about how the report was doctored. After another year of court applications, the truth finally became known. It is neatly summarised in the exclusion of a perfectly sensible suggestion by a senior defence force officer, who said it was absurd to buy 52 more jets when SA already had 50 Cheetah jets and only nine pilots. Only the wilfully blind could possibly think this was irrelevant and should be excised from the final report.

But way back at the start of this story, Kirk and I were the subject of a thinly veiled presidential rebuke in his weekly dispatch. We were dubbed “fishers of corrupt men”.

The memorable phraseology was meant to suggest that the criticisms were the work of people implacably opposed to government, and therefore not worthy of serious consideration. It was just the inevitable, incessant carping of the politically minded.

Typically for a politician, Mbeki blamed the messenger and failed to appreciate the news. By failing to nip corruption in the bud, he now has a full-blown crisis on his hands, not just with Zuma, but in the country as a whole. The saying that a fish rots from the head is horribly applicable.

It seems obvious to me that corruption is no longer a case of sporadic outbreaks, but a pretty widespread phenomenon, motivated by a peculiarly South African form of unapologetic, wilful greed for the good life.

Corruption is often described as a cancer, but it now verges on a political movement. It is everywhere, from a political bias in business transactions, parliamentarians cheating on their travel expenses, oil deals that support the ANC, contracts for friends, biased tendering procedures, and parliamentarians dancing around their desks *1 in support of Zuma.

Its reactions to political events are entirely predictable. If you hear the phrase “witch-hunt” when absolutely legitimate legal remedies are sought, then you know you are dealing with the PPP, the People’s Pro-corruption Party.

The policy stance of the PPP is disarmingly honest: the quickest, most direct route to gold bath taps in an expensive housing development on the edge of town. Depressingly common is the PPP’s cover, called “black empowerment”, even when (or especially when) those empowered are members of the clique alone. PPP’s methodology is a kind of political extortion, even when (or especially when) its beneficiaries spent their struggle time at foreign universities.

So, no. I am sorry, but I do not feel sorry about the intense difficulty of Mbeki’s current choices. They are the consequence of his own failure to act early and decisively.

What about Shaik and Zuma? Shouldn’t we feel just a bit sorry for them? Shaik, 15 years in a cell. Zuma, the innocent, manipulated, falsely maligned political pawn, as yet uncharged but castigated nevertheless.

As far as Shaik is concerned, my emotions are profoundly mixed, but in that mixture, sorrow does not feature. He is engaging, disarming, strong-willed and perhaps unfairly and unluckily singled out. But, as the judge said, his moral compass went haywire. He and his band of brothers so remind me of the toughest guy at school, who would always get picked on by the teachers seeking to make an example of someone. They chose the toughest guy because they knew he would roll with the punches and take it all in good spirit.

As for Zuma, think about this. Think about an average morning in SA. Think of the millions of people wending their way to work to dull jobs that don’t pay very much. Think of the miners marching to the rock face to spend another grinding shift breaking stones. Think of shop attendants cleaning their glass cases. Think of the millions of ordinary things that ordinary people do before the commercial crush begins.

Keep this thought in your mind, and now think of Zuma arriving at Durban airport in a private jet, and phoning Shaik because he doesn’t have sufficient loose cash. Think of Shaik going through his wallet and the company petty cash box, and sending his secretary to the airport with the money in an envelope.

Now ask yourself again, who do you feel sorry for?

Cohen is editor at large.

With acknowledgements to Tim Cohen and the Business Day.

*1 Even the parliamentary Alsatian indicated his displeasure, but unfortunately his aim was bad and poor old Gatsha thought that he was the target of a Third Force.

An excellent opinion piece, although not quite as strong at the end as in the beginning and middle.