To Go Out and Be Of Service

I try to have as little as possible to do with government departments. My low expectation  — rarely proven wrong  — is that the experience will be frustrating, time-consuming, repetitive and ultimately pointless, leaving no closer to my goal at the end of it than when I started.

There certainly are some dedicated and hardworking people in these departments, but their presence is rarely felt by ordinary citizens.

The rise of businesses who will “queue for you” means that you can pay someone else to absorb some of the pain when you do have to deal with government — but only if you have money. The vast majority of South Africans have no choice but to stand in the queues, wait for hours, likely be met by an unhelpful and uninformed official, and then be told to come back the next day. Meantime, the departments themselves each year receive higher budgets and yet deliver less service to fewer people.

Among all the dysfunctional departments, Home Affairs (DHA) seems to stand out as one of the worst. The DHA actually now seems to admit that they cannot fix their own problems since they are relying on others to deliver some of their core services. They already subcontracted some of their visa processing to a private company; increasingly they are using banks as delivery points for identity documents and passports.

Again, that’s great if you can afford to pay the premium, but of no help to the majority who cannot. Meantime, there is no evidence at Home Affairs (any more than at education or health) that middle class people opting out enables the department to improve service delivery for those who remain.

An ID failure

DHA is the key to an ID; and in South Africa an ID is key to unlocking almost every form of empowerment service: jobs, grants, higher education and training, non-emergency healthcare, and  — of most symbolic importance  — voting. I know that at least half of homeless people in Durban do not have IDs even though they are South African. In a few cases they have never had them; mostly their ID has been lost or stolen or (appallingly) destroyed by the police when “clearing up”’ the streets.

It costs R140 to replace an ID. Since homeless people are unlikely to have this, we at the Denis Hurley Centre raised enough money to pay for about 600 IDs. We were hoping to be able to spend it quickly and then raise some more. But after three years, with a manager and law interns almost entirely focused on this, we have been able to spend only 40% of the money — not because there is a shortage of those in need but because Home Affairs is so slow at processing applications.

We have explained to Home Affairs that on any given day we have a target group of potentially 100 ID applicants, assembled in one location, pre-screened by us and ready for processing. All DHA has to do is send one of their mobile units. But they say they are too busy elsewhere.

We thought we had a golden opportunity during lockdown, as the mobile units were sitting idle and the DHA offices were not fully operational. Surely, since they were paying their staff, DHA could send some to help us. We even compiled the full details of 700 people who were desperate for IDs. Nothing.

Instead, we have been dutifully waiting in the endless queues, occasionally getting through the door, but still be met with the usual delays and obfuscation. Now Home Affairs proudly tells us that people can avoid the queues by booking an appointment online. Let’s leave aside the irony that homeless people  — and the elderly and disabled who need the assistance of DHA to obtain grants  — are the least likely to be able to access online services.

If the system worked, this could be a great improvement. But in our experience, it does not: we just get offered appointments which are hundreds of kilometres away or many months from now. And half the time, when you go to the office they cannot refer to the appointments “because the system is off-line”.

Home Affairs experience

I recently had to contact DHA for something concerning my own needs. Knowing how overstretched the Durban offices are, and thinking this would give me a reason for a nice drive out, I decided to cast my net wider to 20 DHA offices within a 4-hour drive of where I live. The website very graciously gave me email addresses and landlines and even mobile numbers for each office. So I thought I would try and contact them in advance.

Only one of the published landline numbers was answered  — one out of 20, despite multiple attempts. The person said they would call me back; they never did. Three of the 20 cell numbers were in fact answered — which means 17 were not, either ringing indefinitely or just dead. These three all told me to call back at a certain time. When I did, there was no reply.

To my great surprise, I actually did get an answer from six of the 20 email addresses. In four cases, they simply told me to visit the office or call the landline number (which, of course, did not work). Two of the 20 emails gave a useful answer to my question. So from 60 points of contact that DHA themselves advertised, a mere 3% delivered something useful. Even for the Department of Basic Education, that would not be a pass mark!

My experience is just one example and I am sure we all have our own horror stories (and some of us might even have positive experiences to report). Can we do anything about this failure in service delivery other than to complain? Yes we can!

DHA, and all government departments, are full of people who go to our churches and walk out of Mass on Sundays professing that they will “go and serve the Lord with our lives”. You might be one of them. I hope that as a Church we have taught people that serving the Lord is not about how many candles we light, commendable as our prayers are, but rather about what we do (or do not do) to the least of our sisters and brothers.

Service in the Church

But the Church also has the equivalent of government departments. We find them in some diocesan chanceries, SACBC departments, religious NGOs and parish offices. Are the clergy, staff members and volunteers always good models of public service? Many of them are; some are not.

I am astonished that there are still chanceries that close their switchboards for lunch and teatime; or which do not give out mobile numbers; or take weeks to answer emails; or have websites which lack basic, up-to-date information. Government officials know that their monopoly on power means they can just make people wait since the people cannot go elsewhere. Do we fall into the same trap sometime?

Almost everyone who is reading this and is employed is probably in some way given the opportunity to serve others. The question for those of us in that position should be: Do I really serve others with the same passion and energy I would have if I was serving the Lord himself? I might be able to cover up my failings to my boss or my customers, but God knows if I am really being of service.

As I ask this question of you, I ask it of myself. I know that there are ways in which I and my organisation sometimes fail to give excellent service. I intend to reflect on this and find ways to improve. If we all do that, wouldn’t the world be better for everyone?

Published in the August 2023 issue of The Southern Cross magazine