South Africa’s draft policy on satellite internet reads like a press release from a government at war with itself. On the one hand, it concedes—almost grudgingly—that access to fast, reliable internet is good for economic growth. On the other, it spends the better part of its pages convincing an imaginary inquisition that opening up the satellite space to international players does not mean the government has “sold out.” The result is a legislative pretzel: tangled, defensive, and brittle.
Not to be overly dramatic, but one thinks of Lenin and his ilk, who would rather have the people suffer, oftentimes extremely so, instead of trading with those partners who hold a different ideological position. That is the logic at play here. We need internet. We need jobs. We need growth. But if those needs arrive via a route not paved in ideology, then some would rather they not arrive at all.
The policy acknowledges a fundamental truth: expanding broadband access is crucial for economic growth. Citing World Bank research, it notes that a 10% increase in broadband penetration can lead to a 1.21% rise in GDP for middle-income countries like South Africa. This recognition underscores the transformative potential of satellite internet in bridging the digital divide, especially in underserved rural areas.
Yet, despite this acknowledgment, the policy is riddled with a tone of apology and justification. It painstakingly assures that allowing international companies to participate in the satellite internet sector does not equate to abandoning the goals of Broad-Based Black Economic Empowerment (B-BBEE). This defensive posture reveals a government caught in the throes of ideological rigidity, unable to fully embrace the economic opportunities that such technological advancements present.
Steak and chips or strategy and tactics?
The crux of the issue lies in the policy’s attempt to balance the imperative of economic growth with the tenets of B-BBEE. While the policy introduces “equity equivalent investment programmes” as alternatives to the traditional 30% local ownership requirement, it does so with a sense of reluctance, as if conceding to economic pragmatism is a betrayal of ideological purity. This approach not only muddles the policy’s objectives but also signals a lack of coherent direction.
If fast internet helps farmers track markets, lets children study online, allows businesses to run from the Karoo as easily as from Sandton—then who exactly is being harmed? If rural kids can Google Pythagoras without a battery-powered scramble for a shaky 3G tower, should we not roll out the red carpet for whoever can make that happen, even if they speak with a foreign accent?
Let us not forget that most South Africans who travel hundreds of kilometers every weekend would love nothing more than to have decent cell phone signal on the N3 between Villiers and Harrismith, or to not have to climb koppies just to send a WhatsApp. In the long corridors of power, the talk is of empowerment charters and percentage ownership targets. But outside, in the real country, people just want to know why Jaden was winking.
Racial classification on the plank
This leads us to a broader, braver question: what other areas of South African life might benefit if we threw the pirate of racial classification overboard, boots and all?
We’ve created a world where race is not just a legacy—it’s an operating system. It’s how you register a company, bid for a tender, apply for university, or get a fishing licence. We’ve handed out pens to bureaucrats and asked them to become racial cartographers, etching lines through every corner of civic life. But who benefits from this architecture? The young woman who can’t get funding because her coloured surname doesn’t quite match the quota? The rural boy who can’t prove which box to tick because his family’s history has been broken and scattered by centuries of displacement?
Race in South Africa is real—its consequences are lived and daily. But the obsessive classification of it has begun to feel like a failed ritual, a sacrifice to an idol that no longer delivers rain.
Why, for example, is race still a factor when allocating water rights? Why do land redistribution programmes require applicants to declare their ethnicity before they declare their plans? Why does the Department of Forestry, Fisheries and the Environment still use apartheid’s racial categories to decide who can catch fish and who can’t?
If we’re going to fix this country, we need to focus on the people left behind—not the colour of their skin, but the substance of their lives. Poverty does not discriminate, even if policy does. By prioritizing ideological adherence over tangible benefits, the government risks perpetuating the very inequalities B-BBEE aims to address. Economic empowerment should not be a zero-sum game where embracing innovation is seen as a compromise. Instead, it should be about creating inclusive opportunities that uplift all citizens.
And so, back to the skies.
The draft policy allows some flexibility, grudgingly. It says that companies can meet empowerment goals through “equity equivalent” programmes if they can’t meet the local ownership thresholds. This is a good step. But why the apologies? Why the bureaucratic gymnastics to prove that we’re still loyal to the altar of BEE? Empowerment should be measured in outcomes, not rituals. Is the child in Giyani better off? Has the school in Kuruman got working Wi-Fi? Is the nurse in Mthatha able to upload medical records without watching the loading screen spin like a roulette wheel?
South Africa doesn’t need another justification. It needs a direction. And that direction is forward—into the 21st century, with or without permission from yesterday’s gatekeepers.
So let the satellites fly. Let the towers rise. And let the signal come through loud and clear, even if it cuts across the old maps.