When a former mining executive urges a foreign government to punish policymakers rather than businesses, and the presidency responds by calling him unpatriotic, the question that matters most to ordinary South Africans is not who wins the argument. It is whether the country’s economic wellbeing is being treated as separate from the political fortunes of those who govern it. That question sits at the heart of the dispute between the presidency and Neal Froneman, the former CEO of Sibanye-Stillwater, and its resolution has consequences for every citizen who depends on investment, jobs, and functioning public institutions.
The controversy stems from an interview about Froneman’s efforts to bring a Formula One race back to South Africa. In it, he argued that the country’s strained relations with Washington, particularly over its ties to Iran and Russia, could jeopardise efforts to secure the race, whose commercial owner, Liberty Media, is American. In explaining his engagements in Washington, Froneman urged that South African businesses should not be punished for the policies of their government. Any punitive measures, he suggested, should instead target the individuals responsible for those policies.
The presidency’s response was swift and, by now, familiar in style. It characterised the approach as “unpatriotic and destructive” and suggested that Froneman withdraw from a government-business partnership of which he is a key member. Critics, meanwhile, have pointed to an apparent contradiction between his remarks and the government backing his Formula One project would require.
Yet the stakes here extend well beyond one businessman’s diplomatic manners. The partnership Froneman helped lead has delivered results that belong to the public. It includes a crime and corruption workstream, and Froneman has also chaired Business Against Crime South Africa, a substantial commitment of time for which he receives no remuneration. The wider collaboration produced a banking-sector-backed forensic centre for the Hawks, and support for reforms that contributed to South Africa’s removal from the Financial Action Task Force’s grey list. These are collective achievements, not his alone, but they are the kind of practical gains citizens are entitled to expect from cooperation between the state and the business community. A climate in which business leaders fear public criticism of government policy, on pain of expulsion from such partnerships, narrows the space in which that cooperation can happen.
For more than two decades, South African business leaders have been expected to help address the country’s mounting challenges, from fiscal decline and deindustrialisation to the need for social upliftment and public safety. There is, however, a peculiar expectation that in doing so they should exercise restraint in critiquing the political decisions that compound these problems. Their money, expertise, and time are readily accepted; their opinions are dismissed when they dare to challenge those in power publicly. The presidency’s rebuke of Froneman brings that tension into sharp focus, and it raises a fundamental question: at what point does loyalty to a country become conditional on deference to those who govern it?
Seeking government support for a project such as a Formula One race does not require political deference, nor does the prospect of private profit negate a venture’s potential national benefits. The project should be judged on its merits, not on its promoter’s willingness to refrain from criticising government. That said, Froneman’s proposed sanctions remedy does warrant scrutiny: who would be targeted, on what evidence, for which decisions, and with what safeguards? Those are fair questions to ask of anyone proposing that a foreign power impose consequences on South African officials.
By contrast, the presidency’s accusation of disloyalty confuses the interests of South Africa with those of its political leadership, as though the two were necessarily inseparable. They are not, and the distinction matters to the public, because a government that equates criticism with disloyalty insulates itself from the very scrutiny that accountability requires. As one editorial argument recently put it, obedience is not patriotism (https://www.thecommonsense.co.za/Editorials/obedience-not-patriotism).
Froneman’s record gives his critics’ charge little to stand on. His career has been grounded in an industry whose fortunes remain intimately connected with South Africa’s economic prospects. Having led Sibanye-Stillwater from its establishment as a domestic gold producer into an international mining business, he understands the relationship between investment, operational viability, and employment. His concerns about the consequences of government policy should therefore be engaged on their merits, rather than dismissed as the unwelcome intrusion of a businessman into diplomatic affairs.
His patriotism, such as it is, has never been the ceremonial variety. It has been reflected for decades in his willingness to commit his energies to “proudly South African first” commercial endeavours and to confront the challenges he believes prevent the country from realising that potential. He has never been particularly good at knowing his place, nor at keeping quiet when he believes government, unions, or fellow business leaders are damaging the country of his birth and the prospects of its people.
For the citizens whose safety, livelihoods, and institutions depend on that work continuing, that is not a flaw. It is something the country should be grateful for, and the question now is whether the space for such public-spirited engagement will widen or shrink.