In a country with nearly 40% unemployment and obscene levels of inequality, hiking VAT wasn’t just tone-deaf — it was economic sadism wrapped in fiscal jargon. It’s the state robbing the hungry to cover for its own gluttony.

By Themba Khumalo

It is a rare and unsettling thing to watch a government mug its own people in broad daylight—and then try to pretend it was all just a misunderstanding.

But that is exactly what the National Treasury attempted with its now-aborted VAT increase.

A 0.5 percentage point hike, dropped like a dead rat in the national budget and was justified with the cold, robotic logic of technocrats who have not set foot in a township clinic since they were campaign interns.

Then—poof! —vanished at midnight, like a pickpocket ducking into an alley after getting caught red-handed. No shame. No accountability. Just the political equivalent of, “Oops, did I do that?”

Let us not mince words. This was not “fiscal consolidation.” This was an economic assault. An attempted tax mugging of the poor to patch over a deficit caused by years of looting, incompetence, and strategic amnesia. And when the blowback came—from courts, opposition parties, and an increasingly livid public—the Treasury folded like a cheap plastic chair under a buffalo.

They called it a “reconsideration.” We call it what it was: a spineless retreat by a government that thought it could sneak in a tax hike under cover of bureaucratic fog, only to find out that South Africans are done being the default ATM for state failure.

The Coward’s Budget

This was never about “saving frontline services.” If that were true, the Treasury might have considered taxing wealth, luxury goods, or the corporate elite, who have been siphoning profits offshore faster than a mafia boss on a private jet. But no—those options remain conveniently “complex.” Instead, they reached for the easy button: increase VAT, hit the majority, and call it patriotism.

That is not a strategy. That is moral bankruptcy.

VAT is regressive by design. It taxes everyone equally on consumption, which means the less you have, the harder you are hit. Increasing VAT in a country with 40% unemployment and sky-high inequality is not just tone-deaf—it is sadistic.

It is asking the poor to bail out the very system that keeps them poor, while the wealthy glide above the chaos in tax-efficient silence.

Theatrics, Not Governance

The official excuse for the U-turn? “Extensive consultations with political parties.” That’s a nice euphemism for “we got dragged to court and politically pantsed by our own coalition.” The Democratic Alliance filed to block the increase. The Economic Freedom Fighters piled on as an “intervening party.” Suddenly, Treasury was staring down not just a public backlash, but a coalition mutiny.

So, they backed off. Quietly. Pathetically. The announcement came in the dead of night, buried in jargon, hoping no one would notice the spectacular failure of judgment. It was less a policy shift and more an escape from accountability—like a gambler slinking away from the table after losing the rent money.

And let us not forget, this hike was signed, sealed, and scheduled to land on May 1—Workers’ Day, of all days. Nothing quite says “solidarity” like making life more expensive for the working class while your ministers enjoy chauffeured cars and catered strategy sessions on how best to spin the disaster.

Don’t Celebrate Too Loudly

Sure, the VAT hike is dead. Burnt to ash by the fire of public outrage. But do not mistake this for a moral awakening. This government does not blink unless it is staring down the barrel of a court order or a social revolt. Treasury’s retreat was not driven by logic and empathy. It was driven by fear.

And they have already made it clear: they are “considering other proposals.” That is the technocrat code for “we’re going to find another way to screw you, just more discreetly.” Because the budget hole remains, the desperation remains, and the governing elite’s allergy to taxing themselves remains a chronic condition.

Make no mistake—the next proposal will come dressed in friendlier language, marketed with the precision of a corporate rebrand. It might not be VAT next time. It might be a fuel levy, a sin tax hike, or a clever “restructuring” of subsidies that quietly shifts the burden back to the bottom 90%.

And when it comes, they will hope we have gone back to sleep.

Stay Angry. Stay Loud.

This was a win. A real one. But it was not handed down—it was wrestled from the jaws of a state that thought it could play economic Russian roulette with the public and walk away clean.

It is proof that the people still hold power, that outrage can still force the hand of the most indifferent institutions, and that sometimes—even in a country long numbed by corruption and crisis—truth still cuts through spin.

So yes, raise your voice. Celebrate the kill. But do not sheath the sword just yet.

Because in South Africa, bad ideas never die. They just learn new tricks.