Two very different stories have unfolded before us in recent weeks.
One is written in sweat and dust, on the army recruitment grounds where thousands of young people lined up, ran and endured in pursuit of a handful of posts.
The other is written in forgiveness and hope, as former Ngwempisi MP Mthandeni Dube prepares to walk out of prison on parole.
At first, they seem to have little in common – one about unemployment, the other about politics.
Yet, if we are honest, both are mirrors held up to our country. One reflects the depth of despair we are in; the other reminds us of our remarkable capacity to reconcile and renew.
Together, they tell a story of who we are today and the hard choices we must face about tomorrow.
The images from the army recruitment that started a couple of weeks ago were both inspiring and heartbreaking.
On the first day, more than 1 000 (if not more) hopefuls showed up, ready to prove themselves. They ran until they were gasping, pushed through punishing exercise and clung to a dream that for most would vanish by sunset. By the end of the day, only three from each inkhundla were successful. Three out of a thousand. What does that tell us?
That our young people are desperate – desperate enough to endure humiliation and exhaustion for a slim chance at a job.
Let us be honest: many of them did not come because they felt a lifelong calling to serve in uniform. They came because, in this country, opportunities are so scarce that even a military career – one that could demand their lives – is better than nothing.
And these were not just the unskilled or the uneducated. Never-mind the pupils who have triumphed so far, giving up everything else to try out on something that looks like a piped dream, but among them were graduates, professionals, young men and women with degrees who should be building the nation with their knowledge and expertise.
Instead, they were running in the dust, competing against athletes, for jobs that don’t even use their training.
That should make us pause. For all the speeches about attracting investors and building factories, this is where we are: a generation of the educated, reduced to racing for survival. If that is not an indictment of our economic policies, what is?
Now, it must be said, the army deserves credit for how it has conducted this recruitment. In a society where corruption is often the uninvited guest at the table, they have done well to keep the process transparent, free from political meddling and open to all.
Chiefs and Members of Parliament (MPs) have not been allowed to handpick their favourites and for that, the army must be applauded – no matter the desperation by Manzi Zwane.
But transparency, though noble, is not enough. It cannot disguise the fact that thousands walked away empty-handed, not because they lacked discipline or patriotism, but because there are simply not enough positions available here or no jobs elsewhere. It also cannot address a deeper flaw: the recruitment model itself.
The modern army is not built only on muscle and endurance. It requires computer scientists, engineers, medics, strategists – people who may never win a sprint, but who hold the knowledge that keeps a modern force sharp.
Where do they fit in this system? Where do we find the innovators if the only test that matters is how fast one can run?
That question remains unanswered.
