R7 million for SONA: What are we paying for, really?
R7 million is a number that lands with a thud. Not because South Africans do not understand that big national events cost money, but because every rand now lives next to a question. Is this the best use of public funds, and what do we get back for it?
SONA is meant to be the highest formal moment of executive accountability. It is where the President outlines the government’s priorities and where the country, through Parliament, gets a clear signal of what the year will be about. In theory, it is democratic theatre with real consequences. In practice, it is also a production. A national broadcast operation with a security footprint, technical infrastructure, and logistical complexity that quickly turns a single evening into a multi-million-rand line item.
That is the core tension behind the R7 million price tag. On the one hand, Parliament is arguing that this year’s cost is significantly lower than previous years, framed as evidence of tightening and improved planning. On the other hand, the public does not experience “significantly lower” as comfort. The public experiences it as: still millions.
To understand the debate properly, you have to look past the instinctive idea that the money is being spent on glamour. Most of the cost is not the venue itself. The big drivers are the unsexy, technical parts: broadcasting equipment and services, ICT infrastructure, and the operational machinery required to host an event of this scale. That framing matters because it shifts the argument from “Why are we throwing a fancy party?” to “Why does democratic accountability require this kind of production cost in 2026?”
That question gets sharper when you add the country’s current mood into the mix. A strained economy changes how citizens interpret state spending. Unemployment, service delivery
pressure, and the daily fatigue of keeping life running all make large public events feel emotionally expensive, even when they are constitutionally justified. The number becomes symbolic. It becomes a proxy for trust.
And then there’s the modern attention economy problem: even if SONA is important, do people still consume it as a full event? Many viewers will not watch a long evening broadcast. They will absorb the highlights through short clips, summaries, reaction videos, and next-day analysis. The content travels, but the format struggles.
This is where the conversation shifts from cost to design. If the public experiences SONA in fragments, should the state keep paying for a format built for a different era? Could the same constitutional function be achieved with a leaner model? A more digital-first approach? A format that acknowledges how audiences actually receive information now?
None of these questions are arguments against accountability. They are arguments for upgrading it. If SONA is meant to connect government priorities to public reality, then the “public reality” includes how people watch, how people listen, and how people decide whether they believe what they are hearing.
R7 million is not just a budget number. It is a test of whether the state can justify its rituals in plain language, with receipts, and with an understanding that trust is now built in smaller, sharper moments.
And in South Africa, every number eventually becomes a story about what we value.
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