The limits of political biography

ANTHONY BUTLER: Biographies leave much unsaid over presidential power

Complex interplay of factors that shape a president’s actions are mostly overlooked

First published in Business Day and BusinessLive

 28 March 2025

Political biographers — I am a part-time member of this tribe because I once wrote a biography of Cyril Ramaphosa — run into a problem when their subject actually becomes state president.

This predicament is frustrating because the celebrity’s prospective or actual rise to the top job is often the reason the biography was written in the first place. 

Biographies understandably elaborate on personality and formative experiences rather than the actual mechanisms of power in the presidential office. A focus on personal life narratives, influenced by biographical traditions and outmoded Freudian psychology, overlooks the complex interplay of factors that shape a president’s actions. 

In contrast to regular party politicians, presidents occupy a unique position at the pinnacle of state power, navigating complex tensions as head of state and government, party leader and state manager, international representative and domestic politician, and disburser of formal and informal power (and money).

Add to this a labyrinth of classified documents that lie mouldering in databases or the basements of government departments, and inaccessible private interactions with powerful individuals at home and abroad, and it is little wonder few political biographies do more than scratch the surface of presidential power. All we get is the illusion that we have been transported into the mind of the leader as he sat behind the presidential desk and pondered the great decisions of state. 

This challenge is extreme regarding Nelson Mandela. We have now been told an extraordinary range of things that we really do not want to know — about his wives and relationships, Communist Party dalliances, intermittent Methodism and the way he polished his shoes. But little is known about how he actually operated as state president. For that we have to rely on thinly detailed chapters in biographies, and an extremely generous book from Mandla Langa assembled from notes and speeches Mandela left behind. 

This is of some practical importance. As Roger Southall notes in his thought-provoking study Smuts and Mandela, many younger South Africans believe Mandela “sold out” to white monopoly capital, and that “his democracy has proved to be a sham”, in which “the black majority is little better off than it was under apartheid”. 

The instinct of many scholars has been to rally round Mandela, explain the context in which his decisions were taken, and justify the compromises that had to be struck at that time. This defensive approach is a mistake. 

Mandela “improvised a nation”, as one academic brilliantly observed, through simple yet powerful gestures that reached beyond political elites to ordinary people. His primary goal as president was to avoid debilitating racial war and promote racial reconciliation — a commendably coherent and clear objective, but one that may have been entirely misconceived. 

Though Mandela was extraordinarily effective in terms of symbolic leadership, he lacked engagement with the practicalities of governing. He also failed to confront the HIV/Aids crisis effectively — on Langa’s account because of his concern about the electoral costs of speaking out — and instead exercised leadership where it was not needed, for example backing school feeding schemes to which nobody was opposed. 

In resolving the ANC’s funding crisis he tolerated the arms deal, perhaps because of the nominal party funding element it involved, solicited foreign donations from authoritarian countries, and accepted personal favours for himself and his family. In these ways Mandela laid some of the groundwork for the problematic relationship between money, politics and personal gain that became more pronounced under his successors. 

• Butler teaches public policy at the University of Cape Town. His new book, ‘Presidential Power’ will be published later this year. Readers who may have personal photographs that reveal the character of any SA president can contact him on anthony.butler@uct.ac.za to discuss their possible inclusion in the book. 

The second termer’s turn to legacy politics

ANTHONY BUTLER: Second term for presidents is best and worst of times

While finally in command, second-term leaders also know their time is running out

First published in Business Day

18 October 2024

President Cyril Ramaphosa. File photo: GCIS

President Cyril Ramaphosa. File photo: GCIS

For a president the start of a second term is the best of times. But it is also the worst of times.

The first termer is on a learning curve. Lacking experience, they are surrounded by the appointees of their predecessor, hemmed in by policy and budget frameworks set by others, and obliged to campaign in a series of elections in which they are a public punchbag.

It is only after re-election by the party, and then 18 months later by the National Assembly, that a president becomes more or less invulnerable to removal. The second-termer is more experienced, surrounded by a chosen team, confident in cabinet and media manipulation, and adroit in deployment of informal institutions.

However, while finally in command at the apex of national power, second-term leaders also know their time is running out. Factions start to consolidate around potential successors. Initially fluid groupings organise around proxy issues and disrupt the government machine.

Media attention is attracted not by the president’s words but by those of the contenders for their office. Newspapers run extended pieces about ANC succession politics, and soon a political journalist declares the president a “lame duck”.

This cycle leads most presidents to become obsessed with their “legacy”. First, they yearn for a “concrete legacy” of tangible accomplishments. In some political systems this is a moment of real danger. Ageing “strongman” leaders such as Russia’s Vladimir Putin or China’s Xi Jinping conceive invasion or the expansion of empire as their legacy to their countries.

In more democratic societies presidents leave concrete legislative or governance legacies by signing all kinds of well-meaning policy changes. They are always aware though, that a successor can equally easily erase these accomplishments.

A second legacy ambition concerns the control of presidential succession, which offers a chimera of enduring direct power. Authoritarian-minded presidents often decide they should succeed themselves. Even in SA’s constitutional democracy, with its parliamentary system and two-term limit for presidents, Thabo Mbeki and his retinue fantasised in 2007 that they could retain the ANC presidency, install a puppet state president, and continue to run the country from Luthuli House.

An embarrassing — perhaps even pitiful — variant of this legacy ambition arises when the president discovers that their favourite child turns out to be the best person to run the country after they are gone. 

A third presidential ambition — we might say the desire for a soft legacy — concerns an intangible and persistent influence that continues to shape politics after the leader has gone. 

In SA we tend to think in terms of the “foundations” beloved of our retired political leaders. These purport to pursue particular political philosophies, but in reality serve primarily as tax avoidance vehicles for party veterans. 

The less tangible sources of influence that endure even after the leader retires are harder to create but more enduring, because they are based on memories enshrined in the minds of public officials and wider populations. 

To take one famous example, US president Franklin Roosevelt introduced programmes in the New Deal that continue to shape debate about entitlement programmes in his country.

Nelson Mandela was an ineffectual president in most respects, but he left behind a set of values and perspectives about the creation of a nation around which contemporary political argument in SA still turns. 

The enduring legacy of a political leader resides not in the laws they fashion or in the successors they try to impose. Rather it turns on whether they express more fundamental ideas and arguments that are revisited and reworked by those engaged in politics in future.

• Butler teaches public policy at the University of Cape Town.