Despite the much-celebrated ‘third wave’ of democratic transitions that swept through Africa in the early 1990s, many post-colonial states across the continent remain what scholars like Larry Diamond and Richard Sklar describe as “hybrid regimes.” These are political systems that combine the formal structures of democracy with the underlying realities of authoritarianism.
Notwithstanding the hype and self-proclaimed ‘exceptionalism’, South Africa is not significantly different from countries like Nigeria, Zambia and Mozambique. The myth of South African exceptionalism obscures the country’s deep structural continuities with other post-colonial African states, particularly the failure to dismantle the legacies of colonial capitalism and authoritarian rule.
While the collapse of one-party states and the relegalisation of opposition parties initially suggested a shift toward pluralism and liberal democracy, the outcomes have primarily been limited to partial political openings rather than deep, structural transformations.
In most cases, these changes produced superficial reforms rather than the institutionalisation of democratic norms. In this regard, elections have become more frequent, and the rhetoric of democratic governance has also become widespread. However, the substance of democracy—accountability, transparency, genuine citizen participation and equitable policymaking—has remained elusive.
South Africa’s Democratic Deficit: Illusion of Participation and Elite Control
In the case of South Africa, this democratic deficit is most evident in the realm of policymaking, which remains highly technocratic and insulated from public input. Critical economic and social decisions are taken behind closed doors, shielded from public scrutiny and deliberation. Instead of participatory governance, citizens are routinely bombarded with sensationalist media reports of corruption scandals, state capture and elite infighting—diverting attention from the systemic exclusion of ordinary people from decision-making processes.
ANC fiascos have defined the 30 years of democracy, and less is said about the thriving apartheid in their shadows. For the better part of a decade, Jacob Zuma, the Gupta brothers and the Zondo Commission dominated public discourse. Today, the cycle continues with recycled scandals involving figures like Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi. While these issues are not trivial, they function as a political smokescreen that distracts citizens. It is a great pity that these stories get more airtime than the unfulfilled promise by elites to end apartheid and its vestiges. While ‘white’ South Africa continues to flourish, the ‘black’ side (an enlarged Bantustan) moves into a bottomless abyss.
Each time politicians and party leaders appear on television, the discussion tends to gravitate toward personality politics and scandal, rather than addressing the country’s deeper crises, such as persistent poverty, debt, unemployment, absent infrastructure and the growing alienation of youth. Meanwhile, millions of South Africans drown in personal debt, while corporations and banks post record profits. Young people are trapped in cycles of marginality, beset by alcohol and drug abuse, an education system that fails to prepare them for a precarious labour market, and seemingly insurmountable barriers to financial independence and “starting life” as adults.
In this environment, policy debates remain inaccessible and unresponsive, and formal political participation (voting every five years) offers little meaningful influence over the trajectory of national development. This disconnect highlights the illusion at the heart of South Africa’s democracy: while the forms of democratic life are preserved (elections, courts, and parliamentary debates), the substance of democracy, defined by accountability, equity, and popular agency, is largely absent. As a result, democratic institutions increasingly serve to legitimise elite continuity rather than disrupt it.
Mechanisms of Masked Authoritarianism: From Media to Economic Policy
In their seminal work, Manufacturing Consent, Noam Chomsky and Edward Herman argue that mass media can play a powerful role in legitimising dominant interests by narrowing the spectrum of debate and framing public consciousness. In South Africa, for example, this dynamic reinforces a political culture in which procedural democracy exists, but substantive democratic control over policy, especially economic governance, remains elusive.
What is becoming increasingly clear is that courts and civil society actors have greater capacity to influence policy and hold power to account than the broader population. This phenomenon aligns with the concept of ‘assisted democracy,’ where democratic processes exist in form but are effectively dominated by courts and civil society, limiting genuine popular participation and oversight. Consequently, while the structures of democracy are maintained, real political power remains concentrated, undermining the ideal of an engaged and empowered citizenry.
As Richard Joseph observes, the transition models adopted across the continent, including national conferences, coopted transitions and donor-driven conditional transitions, were generally provisional. Instead of laying the groundwork for lasting democratic consolidation, they often led to what he terms “virtual democracies.” A virtual democracy maintains the outward trappings of democratic governance, such as multiparty elections, parliaments, constitutions and civil liberties, without effectively redistributing political power or opening policymaking processes to broad societal input.
While many claim that Thabo Mbeki’s presidency marked a period of stability and economic growth in South Africa, it also entrenched a virtual democracy in South Africa. Mbeki’s administration was criticised for its technocratic governance style, limited public participation in key decisions and close alignment with elite economic interests. This reinforced a system in which democratic forms persisted, but substantive political power remained concentrated, thus limiting the meaningful engagement and influence of ordinary citizens in shaping policy outcomes. This has been the case throughout; nobody ever calls this into question.
Power in virtual democratic systems remains concentrated in the hands of entrenched elites and political parties, who use democratic institutions not as vehicles of accountability but as instruments for legitimising continued authoritarian rule. The emergence of electoral competition and citizen participation masks the persistence of elite dominance in the political and economic life of the state.
This argument places all parties, from the DA and ANC to MKP and EFF, within the same overarching paradigm of elite-driven politics. Despite their rhetorical differences and divergent constituencies, these parties operate within a political system that privileges formal electoral competition over substantive transformation. Rather than challenging the structural concentration of power, they unashamedly reinforce it, using democratic language and slogans to legitimise decisions that remain largely detached from the needs and demands of the broader population. In this way, the illusion of choice conceals the continuity of elite rule.
This situation aligns with what Sabelo J. Ndlovu-Gatsheni refers to as the ‘myths of decolonisation,’ whereby formal independence and democratic rituals produce the modern myth of the ‘will of the people’—a symbolic gesture that masks the continued marginalisation of the majority. Under this façade, the postcolonial state retains its colonial logic of rule, where sovereignty is nominal and the population remains structurally disempowered.
In these circumstances, critical economic decisions, especially those related to liberalisation, privatisation and fiscal policy, are systematically shielded from public influence. The protection of market-friendly policies and investor interests becomes paramount, often at the expense of redistributive justice or popular welfare. Far from reflecting the preferences of the electorate, economic policymaking is typically designed to reassure both domestic elites and international financial institutions. This dynamic severely narrows the range of meaningful policy alternatives available to elected governments, even in ostensibly democratic settings.
The Enduring Legacy: Ritualised Voting and the Crisis of Agency
Larry Diamond and Juan Linz argue that such systems reveal how formal democratic institutions mask actual authoritarian control. This institutional façade legitimises elite power, silences dissent and prevents genuine democratic competition. Elections become ritualised exercises devoid of substantive choice. All regimes that emerged after the ‘third wave’ occupy a ‘political grey zone,’ a liminal space between democracy and dictatorship, where formal democratic procedures coexist with informal authoritarian practices. As such, they are not transitional phases on the path to liberal democracy, but relatively stable and self-reproducing systems in their own right.
Therefore, the presumption that these hybrid regimes are simply “not yet” democratic obscures the extent to which they have institutionalised a specific model of governance that is resistant to both internal reform and external pressure.
In sum, the endurance of virtual democracy in Africa reflects a deeper structural and ideological entrenchment of elite rule under the guise of democratic legitimacy. While democratic transitions have brought significant changes to the political form, they have largely failed to disrupt the authoritarian substance. Understanding these regimes as hybrid and virtual, rather than transitional or incomplete, allows for a more accurate assessment of the challenges facing democratic development on the continent.
In this context, voting becomes a ritual stripped of real agency. Without economic sovereignty, responsive policymaking, and meaningful channels for public participation, elections amount to little more than periodic exercises in consent manufacturing. Meaning, your vote authorises not transformation, but continued abuse and humiliation by elites and their collaborators. Citizens are asked to endorse their marginalisation, to consent to systems that exclude them from power while promising liberation in the abstract. Democracy becomes a spectacle: a tasteless and dull performance of inclusion masking the reality of exclusion.
Now you understand why I may never vote again. But have you ever asked yourself what will happen if none of us votes in all 55 countries (yes, 55)?
Siya yi banga le economy!
