South Africa is still dealing with the fallout caused by the deaths of citizens at the hands of the SANDF and a shortage of PPE that has put soldiers and police at risk.

While we’re coming to terms with that, the Singapore government have called in help from an unlikely source to help it in its attempts to keep their citizens safe during the pandemic.

Spot, the ‘social distancing narc’

The new recruit is Spot the robot developed Boston Dynamics. For those of you who somehow haven’t heard of Spot before, you should definitely go over to YouTube now and have a look at the impressive work Boston Dynamics have done.

Spot will be deployed by the Singapore government “to assist safe distancing efforts at parks, gardens and nature reserves.” So essentially it will be roaming around open public spaces doing its best to remind Singapore citizens to maintain safe distances.

Spot is being introduced on an initial two-week pilot. For the period Spot will be patrolling during off-peak periods. Spot will play a recorded message reminding citizens to observe a safe distance.

Watch: Boston Dynamics’ Spot in action

Reducing manpower

For the length of the pilot, a human ranger will be deployed as well in case Spot runs into any unexpected problems while making its rounds. The Singapore government notes in its release:

“Spot will be controlled remotely, reducing the manpower required for park patrols and minimising physical contact among staff, volunteer safe distancing ambassadors and park visitors. This lowers the risk of exposure to the virus.”

Should the trial go well, it’s expected that the Singapore government will be considering rolling out more four-legged robots in its other public spaces.

If the videos are anything to go by though it doesn’t seem like Singapore’s population is quite ready for Spot.

Watch: Spot spotted elsewhere in public

Using tech to police the populous during the pandemic

The poor citizens can be seen getting rather uncomfortable when being followed by what looks like it could be created by Skynet as a pet for Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Hopefully, Spot will be able to win over the public, and we’ll see more robots roaming the streets. Spain made headlines back in March when it started using drones to shout at people who wouldn’t stay indoors.

Spot can also walk, trot, avoid obstacles, climb stairs, and much more. As much as I love drones, give me a four-legged robot dog that can open doors, jump and even rock some killer dance moves any day. Yes, dance:

Watch: A dancing UpTown Spot

In recent weeks, as many as 50 Ethiopian women, formerly employed as domestic workers in the homes of Lebanese citizens, have been abandoned by their employers outside the Ethiopian consulate in Lebanon’s capital, Beirut. Employers apparently resorted to this after being unable to pay their salaries.

The women spend their nights sleeping sprawled across cardboard laid out on the pavement, surrounded by an assortment of luggage and food packages donated from the community. They are on the consulate premises, but Ethiopian consular officials refuse to let them enter the building.

“They don’t let us in,” said Rediet, who says she spent two weeks on the pavement outside the consulate. “My employer just dropped me here and disappeared. The security guard won’t let us near the door. I have nowhere else to go.”

Rediet, like most domestic workers, refuses to give her full name, as she believes that the consulate would target her with retributive action — such as not renewing documentation — for talking to the press.

Lebanon’s economic crash of late 2019 has left citizens struggling to provide for their families, a situation since exacerbated by the Covid-19 pandemic. As a result, many Ethiopian domestic workers have been either laid off or are labouring without pay. Rediet was owed six months worth of wages when her employer dumped her outside the consulate with her luggage late one evening. “He didn’t even say thanks or anything. He just drove off as fast as he could,” she said.

Amnesty International reported that some women were being dropped off at the consulate without their passports, and said the Lebanese government needs to intervene. “These women are among the most marginalised people in society, and are bearing the brunt of the economic crisis, which was exacerbated by Covid-19,” said Heba Morayef, Amnesty International’s regional director.

Aya Majzoub, the Human Rights Watch researcher on Lebanon, described the practice as “inhumane and illegal, as it violates the terms of the workers’ contracts”. She added: “Lebanon should immediately establish a justice mechanism through which these workers can seek redress for human rights and labour violations.”

By Wednesday, about 35 abandoned domestic workers were still sitting on the concrete ground outside the consulate. On the same day, the consulate announced that it would suspend services indefinitely, without saying why.

Public pressure

Local Lebanese media outlets and their camera teams converged on the scene outside the consulate the same day. Images of the young women, forlorn figures in face masks, caused enough of a public outcry for the Lebanese labour ministry to intervene. “A hotel has been secured for the Ethiopian women,” Labour Minister Lamia Yammine later tweeted. Footage of the girls being bussed off and arriving at their new accommodation made the rounds on social media afterwards.

But word of the gesture appears to have had the opposite of the intended effect, encouraging more employers to abandon their employees. More domestic workers have since been dropped off and by Thursday, another 25 Ethiopian women found themselves exposed to the elements outside the consulate.

“The employers are to blame,” senior consular diplomat and communications head Befirde Dengela told the Mail & Guardian. “They can’t just throw them out here when they can’t afford to pay.”

Asked why the consulate decided to close its doors on June 3, Befirde Dengela stated that it was for the safety of the diplomats. “Some of the women this week got rowdy and attacked us. They are frustrated, but still we shouldn’t be kicked or spat at.”

Betty, who is among the women who have been stranded, disputed this account. “We didn’t do anything to them. We would see them every day as they leave for their parked cars. I haven’t been paid in three months and now I’m homeless. Their job is to help us, but they do everything they can to avoid us.”

Associated Press footage of the consulate’s entrance on May 21 appears to show a Lebanese security officer standing guard while Ethiopian women, unable to enter, stand nearby. When probed as to why the consulate was denying the women access to the consulate’s facilities, including a shelter that could house several dozen of them, Befirde Dengela stated that it was to control the spread of Covid-19.

“The girls haven’t been tested yet,” he explained. “We would be endangering them and our staff in the consulate by allowing them inside. We have repeatedly asked Lebanese authorities to intervene and hold these employers who abandon these women accountable. But they are slow to do so.”

But Iman Khazaal, head of the ministry of labour’s Mount Lebanon office, says the Ethiopian government is to blame for the predicament these women find themselves in. “Lebanon’s economy has been hit hard. We did what we could to facilitate the return of these women to Ethiopia by lifting the fines that undocumented migrants would normally be charged,” she explained. “But Ethiopia refuses to evacuate its citizens.”

The only available route home for Ethiopian domestic workers is aboard an Ethiopian Airlines flight to Addis Ababa, with one-way tickets costing an astronomical $1 450. This is an impossible sum for domestic workers, who previously earned as little as $150 monthly.

“How can they expect anyone in Lebanon to afford tickets at that price?” Khazaal said. “We haven’t had such issues with any other embassy. I respect the ties between our countries, but we are confused with the Ethiopian government’s approach.”

Khazaal added that the government is working on bringing legal action against Lebanese employers who throw their workers into the streets, but said, “Many of the women are undocumented, and this is complicating the identification process”.

Zecharias Zelalem is an Ethiopian journalist. You can follow him on Twitter at @ZekuZelalem.

The government has had a bewilderingly muted response to alarm bells being raised about general and Covid-19-related corruption. Angst is growing among civil society organisations and the public at large as the scourge continues amid the deadly pandemic facing South Africa.

Surely the government would not be oblivious to the negative effect graft would have on its efforts to manage this unprecedented public health emergency? Then again, corruption is entrenched in our political, bureaucratic and private spheres and despite the outcries against it by public representatives — from the president to his ministers — organised business and trade unions, corruption continues unabated.

The argument is therefore that the government will not act against its own officials and politicians and the complicit private sector. Buying into this perspective is exactly what corruption beneficiaries want from us — to feel overwhelmed, forced to sit silently in our little corners and not concern ourselves with such societal issues. This would be a pity if allowed to persist, for we know that corruption is spreading just like a deadly virus, robbing many people of their current and future livelihoods.

We should not forget that the new administration promised us a clean, transparent and responsive government even before it took over two years ago. It’s a promise many of us believed in. More recently, President Cyril Ramaphosa again vowed that the government would “act very strongly against any attempts at corruption”. He declared during a public address in March that “special units of the National Prosecuting Authority [will] be put together to act immediately and arrest those against whom we find evidence of corruption”.

So, encouraged by the president’s words, civil society organisations have written to him with powerful suggestions of how this undertaking could be achieved. But, what does the president do? He plays for touch by kicking the ball straight into the bureaucratic milieu, which is not renowned for its efficiency.

Why not take it to the highly efficient National Command Council, Mr President? Why not instruct ministers to give the public regular feedback on reported concerns of corruption? It is this seemingly indifferent attitude that harkens back to the dark days of the previous administration where, as revealed by the Zondo Commission and other investigations, law firms, auditors, banks, local and international consulting firms, politicians and government officials were all on the take.

It is now well-known that Ramaphosa is caught in a political Catch-22. He is trying to reconcile ideological tricksters who dismiss corruption as a manifestation of a white-controlled economy with the rational few who are agitating for a clean-up while simultaneously placating a society disconcerted about the status-quo.

The past two years of his administration has made it clear that speaking through both sides of the mouth is not cutting it anymore.

One does not get a sense that the government takes this corruption crisis seriously.

Gauteng Premier David Makhura promised in 2014 at the Anti-Corruption Summit that he would “build an activist, responsive and clean government” that acts against corrupt government and business officials.

He followed up his assurances with the launch of an Ethics and Anti-Corruption Advisory Council with much fanfare in 2017, lining up the who’s who in the integrity community as its members. We have heard extraordinarily little about what these efforts have achieved.

This week Makhura had to defend himself against accusations of tender irregularities related to personal protective equipment.

The North West province is where fears of reprisals for exposing corruption loom large. The province is under administration because of widespread maladministration under the leadership of former premier Supra Mahumapelo.

Investigations by the province’s premier, Job Mokgoro, reveal that the misdemeanours were hidden in a poverty alleviation project Mahumapelo called “Setsokotsane”. The premier’s office, which the Hawks have raided, controlled the project and the associated dodgy procurement of products and services.

Low-level government officials with ringside access to the madness that was Setsokotsane have all too often seen how the politically-connected splash their ill-gotten gains on posh cars and over vanities such as nose jobs or international junkets or how they funnelled them into investments in fast-food restaurants, petrol stations and farms. They, however, speak in hushed tones about the happenings out of fear of reprisals.

Even as the government moved to alleviate hunger during lockdown, reports of partisan distribution of food parcels surfaced. The food parcel scandal involving Mahumapelo’s associate, former social development MEC Hoffman Galeng, and many other allegations, remind us of the callousness of some of those occupying top positions. They further give substance to the belief that the former premier still has the province in his grip.

Such developments across three spheres of government have exposed a missing link in government’s anti-corruption repertoire: action. If a lot has been achieved as government claims, then it must show us the proof. The public deserves to know. Shouldn’t the government be flooding the media with success stories? This inaction, both real and perceived, could destroy the fragile trust the government has worked so hard to rebuild.

It is important for the government to be seen taking stern action against graft. A bold and far-reaching anti-corruption campaign must be clearly communicated to give the public confidence that thievery and thuggery will be mercilessly dealt with.

Regaining public trust will give those with information about corrupt activities the courage to speak up. They will be reassured that action will be taken and that they will be protected.

Solomon Makgale is an independent communications consultant

The government has had a bewilderingly muted response to alarm bells being raised about general and Covid-19-related corruption. Angst is growing among civil society organisations and the public at large as the scourge continues amid the deadly pandemic facing South Africa.

Surely the government would not be oblivious to the negative effect graft would have on its efforts to manage this unprecedented public health emergency? Then again, corruption is entrenched in our political, bureaucratic and private spheres and despite the outcries against it by public representatives — from the president to his ministers — organised business and trade unions, corruption continues unabated.

The argument is therefore that the government will not act against its own officials and politicians and the complicit private sector. Buying into this perspective is exactly what corruption beneficiaries want from us — to feel overwhelmed, forced to sit silently in our little corners and not concern ourselves with such societal issues. This would be a pity if allowed to persist, for we know that corruption is spreading just like a deadly virus, robbing many people of their current and future livelihoods.

We should not forget that the new administration promised us a clean, transparent and responsive government even before it took over two years ago. It’s a promise many of us believed in. More recently, President Cyril Ramaphosa again vowed that the government would “act very strongly against any attempts at corruption”. He declared during a public address in March that “special units of the National Prosecuting Authority [will] be put together to act immediately and arrest those against whom we find evidence of corruption”.

So, encouraged by the president’s words, civil society organisations have written to him with powerful suggestions of how this undertaking could be achieved. But, what does the president do? He plays for touch by kicking the ball straight into the bureaucratic milieu, which is not renowned for its efficiency.

Why not take it to the highly efficient National Command Council, Mr President? Why not instruct ministers to give the public regular feedback on reported concerns of corruption? It is this seemingly indifferent attitude that harkens back to the dark days of the previous administration where, as revealed by the Zondo Commission and other investigations, law firms, auditors, banks, local and international consulting firms, politicians and government officials were all on the take.

It is now well-known that Ramaphosa is caught in a political Catch-22. He is trying to reconcile ideological tricksters who dismiss corruption as a manifestation of a white-controlled economy with the rational few who are agitating for a clean-up while simultaneously placating a society disconcerted about the status-quo.

The past two years of his administration has made it clear that speaking through both sides of the mouth is not cutting it anymore.

One does not get a sense that the government takes this corruption crisis seriously.

Gauteng Premier David Makhura promised in 2014 at the Anti-Corruption Summit that he would “build an activist, responsive and clean government” that acts against corrupt government and business officials.

He followed up his assurances with the launch of an Ethics and Anti-Corruption Advisory Council with much fanfare in 2017, lining up the who’s who in the integrity community as its members. We have heard extraordinarily little about what these efforts have achieved.

This week Makhura had to defend himself against accusations of tender irregularities related to personal protective equipment.

The North West province is where fears of reprisals for exposing corruption loom large. The province is under administration because of widespread maladministration under the leadership of former premier Supra Mahumapelo.

Investigations by the province’s premier, Job Mokgoro, reveal that the misdemeanours were hidden in a poverty alleviation project Mahumapelo called “Setsokotsane”. The premier’s office, which the Hawks have raided, controlled the project and the associated dodgy procurement of products and services.

Low-level government officials with ringside access to the madness that was Setsokotsane have all too often seen how the politically-connected splash their ill-gotten gains on posh cars and over vanities such as nose jobs or international junkets or how they funnelled them into investments in fast-food restaurants, petrol stations and farms. They, however, speak in hushed tones about the happenings out of fear of reprisals.

Even as the government moved to alleviate hunger during lockdown, reports of partisan distribution of food parcels surfaced. The food parcel scandal involving Mahumapelo’s associate, former social development MEC Hoffman Galeng, and many other allegations, remind us of the callousness of some of those occupying top positions. They further give substance to the belief that the former premier still has the province in his grip.

Such developments across three spheres of government have exposed a missing link in government’s anti-corruption repertoire: action. If a lot has been achieved as government claims, then it must show us the proof. The public deserves to know. Shouldn’t the government be flooding the media with success stories? This inaction, both real and perceived, could destroy the fragile trust the government has worked so hard to rebuild.

It is important for the government to be seen taking stern action against graft. A bold and far-reaching anti-corruption campaign must be clearly communicated to give the public confidence that thievery and thuggery will be mercilessly dealt with.

Regaining public trust will give those with information about corrupt activities the courage to speak up. They will be reassured that action will be taken and that they will be protected.

Solomon Makgale is an independent communications consultant