Maureen Isaacson
The recent decision to declassify the Ministerial Handbook has laid bare the secret luxuries and indulgences enjoyed by the country’s senior office bearers.
Now the benefits and perks, long concealed from the harsh glare of public scrutiny, have been revealed and they include everything from the leeway to cut flowers on ministerial estates to the printing of greeting cards.
These are gilded additions to the hefty pay packages senior office bearers take home each year. They are an estimated R1.8m for national ministers, R1.6m for provincial premiers, R1.5m for deputy ministers and R1.4m for MECS.
The handbook addresses senior government officials, including MECs, and it provides annexures for special advisers, the chief and deputy chief justice and executive mayors whose accommodation will, incidentally, be provided on the level of ministerial standard.
Approved by the cabinet in 2007 – after being compiled by the Ministry of Public Service and Administration in collaboration with the Presidency – the book is a conversation between the converted. Here are the political elite talking to themselves.
All office bearers are reminded that they are to “exercise their powers diligently and honestly” – in the prefacing Executive Ethics Code of Conduct. The authors warn that the highway to pleasure should be travelled without “conflict of interests”.
But here we will focus solely on the ministers and their deputies as we ask: just what extravagance are our ministers entitled to?
In return for serving the people of South Africa, they receive an attractive goody bag which includes medical aid, insurance covering accidents and life cover, and the benefits of a pension fund.
The “inclusive remuneration package” includes a basic salary and top-up provisions for all tax liabilities. A housing allowance equivalent to 10 percent of the basic salary sees to the maintenance of two houses. So if you are earning R1.8 million, you could spend R180 000 on the upkeep of your house, paid for by the state.
Ministers explain away their luxury cars with references to the handbook, which says they may buy an official car equivalent to 70 percent of their inclusive salary package. This means the top dogs can spend R1.26m, which is 70 percent of R1.8m. For higher education minister Blade Nzimande, this meant buying a BMW 7-Series costing more than R1.1 million. Free State Premier Ace Magashule spent R1.3 million on a Mercedes S600.
They may spend the equivalent of 25 percent of the basic component on a private car allowance. This totals a cool R450 000, which will buy you a Merc E Class or BMW 5-series. The insurance for a private car is for the state’s account. Ministers are reimbursed for up to 500 official kilometres a month. If they keep a logbook, they can claim in excess of this.
Our ministers are on the move. So they and their spouses jointly receive 30 single domestic business class flights.
We may not be surprised to hear that their children get six single economy class tickets and lifts to school “when necessary”, or that first class flights on international flights and the Blue Train are part of the ministerial package.
But even after relinquishing office, the treats go on. One year after quitting, ministers are entitled to 48 single business class domestic flights and deputies to 36 of the same.
The authors of the handbook have ensured that our ministers will not go short.
For starters, there’s the corporate credit card scheme – “which is similar in concept to a personal credit card, except that the relevant department facilitates it”.
The book says the card should be issued when “exigencies require funding for travel, accommodation and subsistence on an urgent basis” – or for “supplementing or funding” departmental expenditure, or where the office bearers have already exhausted personal credit limits.
The corporate credit card may be pre-funded in the event of international travel. There should be “clear instructions regarding limits and restriction”. The authors run the risk of confusing readers with the use of vague language. The authors say: “Where possible, departments must negotiate limits and… ensure that a corporate credit card holder is aware that he or she is liable for the payment of debt”.
In the accommodation guidelines, the words “in any hotel or hostelry” – explain where the minister and family may stay while on official business.
The book says: “Accommodation and subsistence expenses should be kept as low as possible by making use of hotels which suit the status of members, but which have reasonable tariffs.”
Which part are those who breach this code not certain of: their status or the reasonableness of the tariffs?
Claiming is a sweet pastime and travel arrangements provide ample opportunity for this.
Ministers and their families who cannot remain at home, can charge everything to the state, including gratuities and reading material bought on trips.
Strikingly, receipts are not obligatory. “If at all possible, receipts should substantiate claims,” say the authors after asserting that “every claim should furnish details of the expenses and include a certificate signed by the minister or private secretary.”
“Subsistence expenses” are two beautiful words for the intended readers of this book. The system kicks off from the get-go, when travelling to the swearing-in ceremony. It is then that the good minister and “spouse” – a broad term which includes live-in partners and allows for polygamous marriage – get a taste of the state pie. He may claim related expenses for three days after the ceremony. That’s when the work begins. But the state picks up the tab for relocation – taking into consideration that the minister may wish to take along his family, domestic workers, pets, cars and trailers.
The minister’s children, who happen to be studying at school or at tertiary level in places other than where the minister is living and working – may make three return journeys during the period covering the session and recess.
The Ministerial Handbook offers ministers the earth, but it is what it says that the state will not pay for that provides an X-ray into the wonderful life of the minister.
The state won’t pay for storage and insurance unless the state- owned building the minister is about to occupy is not ready. Transfer duties are for the minister’s account if he buys a new house whether he uses it for official purposes or not, as are costs such as new school uniforms. And when he’s on official business, the state won’t pay for alcoholic beverages that do not accompany a meal. He may not tipple but he can get away with murder.
He may occupy “one state owned residence free of charge for official purposes in the capital of his choice and if available he may occupy a second state-owned residence in the other capital for official purposes”. For this he will pay “a monthly market related rental”.
According to independent analyst Dale McKinley, this is calculated by taking 1 percent of the minister’s base salary and dividing it by 12. Do the maths.
The book says that if a minister wants to move from a state-owned to a private residence, the state will pay for the removal of his personal effects, but once only. The state spends R100 000 on securing his home. That alone would be reason enough to have kept this handbook out of the public eye all this time.