Welcome back to the theater of the absurd, where the script is written by the incompetent and the audience is consistently punished for paying attention. Today’s performance comes to us from the southern tip of the African continent, a place where the government manages to achieve a level of administrative paralysis that would make a sloth look like a caffeine-addicted stockbroker. In a move that truly defines the word 'clownshow,' South Africa’s Defense Minister, Angie Motshekga, has ordered an inquiry into how her own military managed to conduct naval exercises with Iran. This would be comical enough on its own, but the twist—the delicious, acid-flavored cherry on top—is that President Cyril Ramaphosa had supposedly given explicit instructions that this shouldn't happen. Apparently, in the ANC’s version of governance, the President’s orders are treated like the 'Terms and Conditions' of a software update: everyone clicks 'accept' without reading and then acts surprised when the computer starts smoking.

Let’s deconstruct the sheer, staggering depth of this idiocy. We are expected to believe that a modern sovereign nation—a member of BRICS, a G20 participant, and the self-appointed moral compass of the Global South—accidentally hosted a naval drill with a global pariah. This isn't like forgetting to pick up milk on the way home. This is the equivalent of hosting a barbecue and 'accidentally' inviting the neighborhood arsonist because you forgot to check the guest list that your boss specifically told you to prune. The South African National Defense Force (SANDF) apparently operates on a 'don't ask, don't tell, don't think' policy that transcends mere bureaucracy and enters the realm of performance art. One can only imagine the scene: ships appearing on the horizon, the Iranian flag fluttering in the breeze, and the South African admirals looking at each other with the blank, vacant stares of cows watching a passing train, wondering if they were supposed to be there or if they just wandered into the wrong ocean.

Naturally, the United States is 'angered.' Of course they are. Washington lives in a permanent state of high-blood-pressure indignation, acting like a disappointed parent whose teenager just got caught smoking behind the gym with the kid from the trailer park. The US reaction is as performative as the South African 'inquiry.' The State Department will issue stern warnings, Congress will threaten to review trade agreements like AGOA, and everyone will pretend that this is a matter of high-stakes geopolitical strategy rather than what it actually is: a total collapse of command and control in a decaying state. The US treats every movement of an Iranian hull as a sign of the apocalypse, failing to realize that Iran is likely just as confused as everyone else. Tehran is probably just happy someone—anyone—will play with them in the bathtub of international relations, even if their playmate is a country that can barely keep the lights on for twenty-four consecutive hours.

Now we enter the 'probe' phase. In the lexicon of political survival, an 'inquiry' is the ultimate weapon of the cowardly. It is a black hole where accountability goes to die. By the time this inquiry concludes, the ships will have long since rusted, the ministers will have moved on to new departments to ruin, and the public will have been distracted by the next inevitable crisis. Motshekga’s probe is not about finding the truth; it is about providing a bureaucratic buffer. It allows Ramaphosa to tell the West, 'Look, I’m doing something,' while telling his internal pro-Russia/pro-Iran factions, 'Don't worry, we’re just shuffling papers.' It is a masterclass in non-committal existence. The South African government’s 'non-aligned' stance has devolved from a principled Cold War relic into a convenient excuse for having no coherent foreign policy whatsoever. They aren't 'non-aligned' by choice; they are non-aligned because they lack the organizational capacity to pick a side and stick to it for more than a weekend.

Philosophically, this event is a perfect microcosm of our crumbling reality. We live in a world where the people in charge of warships and international treaties have the professional discipline of a group of toddlers in a bouncy castle. The 'war games' themselves are a farce—a collection of aging vessels engaging in a choreographed dance of futility while the citizens they represent deal with double-digit unemployment and a failing infrastructure. But hey, at least they looked busy on the water. The global stage is no longer a place of grand strategy; it is a series of 'oopsies' and 'probes' conducted by grifters who are too tired to even lie effectively anymore. If this is the 'multipolar world' we were promised, I’d like to speak to the manager. Though, given the current state of leadership, the manager is probably busy ordering an inquiry into why I’m complaining.