South Africa’s basket of VAT zero‑rated goods has not changed in nine years. On paper, that seems like a dry, technical tax fact. In real life, it explains why so many households feel that government debates bear little resemblance to what happens at their own kitchen tables.

Prices have risen. Most incomes have not. Behind the economics are households where bread is stretched for one more day, where protein is bought sparingly, where parents calculate supper with the precision of an accountant.

Yet when the idea of expanding the VAT‑free basket comes up in public debate, the discussion tends to drift upward into the language of revenue losses, administrative burdens and the theoretical leakage to higher‑income households. Those questions matter, but they do not speak to the heart. And when governments are under fiscal strain, policy rarely moves on technical argument alone. It moves when a case is made human.

For a typical South African family, VAT appears quietly, relentlessly, in the rhythm of the day. It’s there when a parent stands in a supermarket aisle deciding which items must go back onto the shelf. It’s there when supper is built around what is cheapest, not what is healthiest. It’s there when food has to last until payday, when children ask for seconds and parents hesitate. Add transport to work, school shoes, prepaid electricity to keep the lights and the fridge on, and then every cent matters.

That is why the central message around expanding the VAT‑free basket must be simple and honest: it is about dignity and morality.

Granted, zero‑rating essential items will not transform livelihoods overnight. But it eases pressure. It allows money to stretch a little further, and the daily act of cooking for a family to happen with less anxiety and more dignity.

There is also a longer‑term argument that deserves clearer attention. Affordable protein is a national investment. Malnutrition carries costs that surface later, in clinics, classrooms and workplaces. A tax system that prices nutrition out of reach may balance the books today, but it shifts the burden to tomorrow.

The chicken market makes this visible. Poorer households rely on frozen bone‑in portions and offal, the cheapest sources of protein. Zero‑rating what is actually bought, changes a great deal.

The same logic applies to dairy liquid blends – nutritious liquid products created as affordable alternatives to fresh or UHT milk. Also to canned vegetables and baby formula. “Shelf‑stable” foods matter where refrigeration is unreliable. Infant nutrition shapes outcomes decades later.

Yet, last year, when several of these items were proposed for zero‑rating, the idea quietly disappeared once the political fight over a VAT increase ended and no increase materialised. A fight that, effectively, ended in higher fuel prices – which in any case filtered down to consumer products almost immediately.

Policy should be shown to be concrete and everyday. Even about the other two items less often mentioned in the zero VAT debate: olive oil and school uniforms. Olive oil remains VAT‑rated while other cooking oils are not, despite its clear health benefits and the potential boost zero‑rating could give to South Africa’s growing olive industry. School uniforms – admittedly not food – continue to surface in zero‑rating debates because many households experience education and nutrition as parts of the same financial struggle.

Zero‑rating essential items also sends a signal. It tells citizens that government understands where pressure is felt and is willing to respond, even incrementally.

Policy arguments, especially about tax, do not succeed by insisting they are correct. They succeed when they are felt, recognised and understood. And in public life, understanding is built through narrative first, and the numbers second.

– Loftus Marais
Chief Operating Officer