Polokwane, Limpopo province, 16–20 December 2007
NO AMOUNT OF SCANDAL appeared to deflect Zuma’s fanatical following. They might well take solace in the fact that the judge in the rape trial had found cause to declare him not guilty, but his degenerate behaviour and lack of moral integrity, which pointed to a grossly flawed character, would have penalised him from membership – never mind leadership – in any half-decent organisation. Despite obvious shortcomings, his adherents turned a blind eye to his shameless faults and touted him as a credible leader. At the expense of the ANC and the country, many in this broad grouping, with no ideological axes to grind, were prepared to ignore his follies, for they saw in him the man who could topple the despised Mbeki. The SACP and Cosatu, with their decidedly ideological concerns, might have regarded Zuma as the best prospect for opening up space for the left, but in my view this rendered them as complicit as the emergent crony capitalists and rent-seeking opportunists who protected him. Zuma was adept at playing the part of the simple country man, the innocent victim. Time and again, this proved the winning card in appealing to the sympathy of sections of the masses – the wretched of the earth on the receiving end of misfortune. Some were conned by guile and deceit into identifying with their folksy hero as the answer to their fervent prayers; none more so than the political leadership behind the tsunami call.
Zuma’s opportunity would come at the ANC’s 52nd national conference in the northern town of Polokwane from 16 to 20 December 2007. One of the obstacles in the way was the Scorpions, the anti-corruption and anti-fraud investigation unit, whose ardent prosecutors believed they had a solid case to have Zuma charged after their success in the Schabir Shaik trial. Time was running out, however, for at that national conference an unprecedented number of delegates would vote to either retain Mbeki or, in all probability, replace him with Zuma, who was the clear favourite. They would also elect a new National Executive Committee.
The Scorpions were established with much fanfare in 2000 as an arm of the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA). The minister of police at the time, the ANC stalwart Steve Tshwete, had provided the Directorate of Special Operations with what became its popular name. The Scorpions’ function was to gather information about crime, fraud, racketeering and corruption at the highest levels, and arm the state with intelligence-driven prosecutions. Scorpions investigators were expected to operate without fear or favour, whether the culprits were senior public figures or not, and combat the alarming level of crime and corruption in the country. This meant their likely targets were Mafia-style crime bosses, corporate executives in the business world, corrupt politicians, and state officials including police chiefs. The key objective had to be to acquire evidence as damning as possible to get the culprits in the dock. As Nelson Mandela had previously urged the NPA: ‘In upholding the rule of law, the emphasis must be on court No. 1, No. 2 and No. 3.’1
It is hardly surprising that with such a remit the unit would find itself in a turf war with the police and the National Intelligence Agency (NIA) and come up against extremely powerful opponents. These allegedly included former liberation struggle personalities within the state, who took entitlement to the extreme levels of ‘it’s our turn to eat’ or ‘payback time’ for the sacrifices they and their families had endured during the struggle. They believed, or so it was perceived, that they were above the law and that Mbeki was duty-bound to protect them from unwelcome investigation by apartheid-era sleuths. Since he had not met such expectations, the already flawed Zuma was their star.
The tasks of Tshwete’s Scorpions could be dangerous work. There could be an ugly backlash particularly when a network of patronage was involved. Not surprisingly, therefore, the next hate figures in the firing line for the Zuma faction was the head of the Scorpions, Leonard McCarthy, and his former boss, Bulelani Ngcuka. I had once met McCarthy at a social function prior to taking over the intelligence portfolio. I again encountered him in his official capacity early in 2005 when he briefed a group of ministers, including Charles Nqakula, the safety and security minister, Brigitte Mabandla, the minister of justice, me and others in the cabinet’s security cluster.2 This meeting concerned outstanding Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) matters pertaining to the list of ANC members, Mbeki among them, that were potentially subject to prosecution, owing to the fact that they had not applied for individual indemnity. I had been impressed then by what I considered McCarthy’s professional manner, his commitment to his duties, his ability and practical approach to resolving the problems at hand – which he did, in this case, without much fuss or rancour.
When I emerged as the solitary minister supporting the retention of the Scorpions at the time of the Khampepe Commission in July 2005, McCarthy sought my counsel. He was seeking advice as to how the Scorpions could resolve the objections they faced, as expressed, for example, in Billy Masetlha’s submission, urging that they fall under the police service. By 2005 the director of the NPA, Bulelani Ngcuka, under whom the Scorpions resided, had resigned his position to go into business, and McCarthy had lost a confidant and friend. He made no bones about not having the struggle background to fully assess the political chemistry of the ruling power and government, and now and again he sought my insight. He prided himself on coming from a solid family background, with religious parents and a father who had been a dedicated school inspector. He often quoted the down-to-earth words of wisdom of his father. He had studied law and became a public prosecutor in the latter years of the apartheid era. As a man of mixed race he had to be dedicated to make his mark. He had not been involved in the struggle at all, which put him at a decided disadvantage with ANC colleagues, who looked down on him. But he was a tall, imposing figure and not intimidated. Notwithstanding his disadvantages, his devotion to duty and professionalism were not overlooked, and were much in demand, and he was soon placed in important posts, leading to his senior appointment as deputy head of the NPA and director of the Scorpions. There were those in the ANC who had come under suspicion of corruption that perceived that McCarthy and his boss, Ngcuka, had deliberately sought to carry out probes into their lives. I have mentioned my opinion that it would have been preferable had an independent committee been established to decide for the Scorpions which cases to take on, thus distancing them from unpopular decisions and the inevitable allegations of selectivity.
Perhaps the single most significant event that dogged McCarthy’s career, and arguably South Africa’s fate, occurred in 2001. This was when Bulelani Ngcuka, as head of the NPA, sensationally announced to a select group of newspaper editors that in the wake of Schabir Shaik’s arraignment on corruption charges, Jacob Zuma was not being charged. This, despite the fact that Ngcuka declared there was prima facie evidence against Zuma. If anyone was left to handle the hot potatoes, it was Leonard McCarthy and also Advocate Vusi Pikoli, Ngcuka’s successor in the NPA hot seat and a former ANC activist.3
During 2007 the NPA’s case against Zuma was coming to a head. Pikoli, who would have been a strong and reliable leader of the NPA, ran into controversy and was suspended by Mbeki, ostensibly for ‘granting amnesty for criminals’ who were prepared to implicate the police commissioner, Jackie Selebi, in corrupt deals. Pikoli’s explanation for what some perceived as Mbeki’s action in protecting Selebi from prosecution was that in the ANC there was a culture he had bucked: that of ‘covering up for comrades’.4 Mbeki’s actions did not assist perceptions that while he protected Selebi, he was unwilling to lift a finger for others, Zuma chief among them. Pikoli was subject to a commission of inquiry and dismissed from the post by Kgalema Motlanthe, who served a nine-month interregnum as president between Mbeki and Zuma.5 With the new director of the NPA, Mokotedi Mpshe, out of his depth and lacking confidence, McCarthy was searching for some political insight when he came to see me.
He sought my counsel as he was being pressed by his team of prosecutors to charge Zuma before the year’s end. The problem was the fast-approaching ANC national conference, and the question was whether to serve the indictment on Zuma before or after the event. In meeting him, I made it clear that I would have nothing to say on whether Zuma should be prosecuted or not. Doing so would be a case of violating the law and interfering with the course of justice. This was an independent question for the NPA and Scorpions, and I respected the separation of powers between the executive (my role as minister) and the judiciary (represented by McCarthy). I was prepared, however, to provide insight into the political processes then under way of which he claimed ignorance – or at least an area where he felt out of his depth. While he may not have been as naïve as he sounded, I did not mind if he was interested in comparing opinions. That was fair enough. My responsibility as intelligence minister was obviously enhanced by interacting with the likes of the head of the Scorpions. From time to time, tea with McCarthy was mutually useful and gave me a clearer view of what was happening within the prosecutorial arena.
The ANC’s organisational structures held their provincial nomination conferences in October and November 2007. At these gatherings Zuma emerged as a clear favourite for the post of ANC president and, by implication, the future president of South Africa come the 2009 national elections. The rivalry between the Mbeki and Zuma groupings was heating up and became more intense than anything else experienced in the ANC’s long history. There had never been so much at stake. The Scorpions feared that if Zuma defeated Mbeki and became ANC president, thereby virtually being guaranteed the national presidency, it would prove highly controversial, and almost impossible, to even consider charging him thereafter. The dilemma McCarthy faced was whether the prosecuting authority should charge Zuma on the eve of the conference or after – in both instances courting hostility. A real dilemma of damned if they did and damned if they did not. What it boiled down to, since they were on course to charge him, was a question of timing. I was not the only minister or government official to view the charging of Zuma on the eve of the conference as playing with fire. And I told McCarthy that the fire would see blood at Polokwane and throughout the country. Would it make any difference, if they waited until after the conference, whether Zuma won or not?
The prosecutors to a person were firmly of the view that the decision should ignore political considerations, and that they should act immediately. If they did not strike then and there, and Zuma won the electoral stand-off with Mbeki, the chance of ever charging Zuma, it was argued, would be irretrievably lost. It was a strong argument, but I felt that charging Zuma beforehand would be unnecessarily provocative and would quite probably unleash violence beyond imagination, so pent up with anger and hostility were the Zuma forces, and they were in the ascendancy. I know that I was not alone in that view and that McCarthy was bound to have consulted others. I expressed my opinion in good faith, nothing more and nothing less. As it transpired, Zuma was charged on 28 December, just over a week after the Polokwane outcome.
I did not have a good feeling on the road to Polokwane, a three-hour drive north of Pretoria on the national highway to Zimbabwe. I found myself reflecting on what Bob Hughes, British Labour Party MP and leader of the Anti-Apartheid Movement, had said to me in 1993 on a visit to his country’s parliament. Pointing out where the ruling Labour Party front benchers sat, he remarked in jest that opposite was the Tory opposition and behind his party’s leaders were ‘the enemy’ – the party’s own back benchers, ever waiting the chance to supplant them. Little did I imagine that in our democratic South Africa those who had fought for freedom would have to watch their own backs as the inner-party struggle for position took hold with particular venom in the run-up to Polokwane. Truly, the revolution sometimes does devour its own children.6
The dramatic result of the conference is well known. It was the tsunami that Zwelinzima Vavi had predicted. He was referring to the ire and determination of the coalition of forces that had crystallised around Zuma and against Mbeki, incensed by more than anything that Mbeki’s standing for a third term as ANC party leader was indicative of his ambition and an obvious vote of no confidence in Zuma.7
For those, like me, who had campaigned for Mbeki, it was a bitter blow and far more so than being knocked down with a feather, for although we had been hopeful, the slap-down had not come out of the blue. It was depressing for the losers. Not because we lost but because of the ugly, unprecedented and disturbing scenes of disrespect for the incumbent leadership. This had been televised throughout the country, and ANC veterans and supporters glued to the TV screens were numbed with shock and disbelief. Telephone lines were buzzing across the land as comrades contacted one another in sheer disbelief at that uncouth behaviour so alien to ANC culture.
I had attended all ANC national elective conferences since the movement’s unbanning: Durban 1991, Bloemfontein 1994, Mafeking 1997 (when Mandela stepped down), and Stellenbosch 2002.8 These had all been impressive and unifying events of high spirit and morale. Even the leading posts had been contested but in good grace. From the moment one arrived in Polokwane, an entirely alien spirit dominated. If you were an Mbeki supporter or, worse still, part of the NEC on the platform in front of almost four thousand delegates, it was like facing a lynch mob baying for blood. Our supporters were clearly in the minority. As the vote count turned out, the Mbeki share amounted to approximately 40 per cent of votes cast. And from day one they were drowned out by an ugly roaring tide that was frightening and vulgar. Mosiuoa ‘Terror’ Lekota did a valiant job as chairman, struggling to subdue the ribald jeering, as he strove to get the agenda adopted and business under way, but his was a lost cause. He was drowned out by the singing of Zuma’s theme song ‘Umshini wam’9 in a sarcastic rejoinder to the criticism Lekota had made about its inappropriateness in the new South Africa. Delegates showed scant respect for anyone associated with Mbeki and, using the football pitch signal of rotating forearms to indicate replacing a player, rudely mocked Lekota and the rest of us, who virtually sat frozen in our seats.
Proceedings finally got under way with a video address by Mandela on giant screens. I watched the crowd, intently trying to figure out who they were. At the front was the rowdiest delegation, from Zuma’s home province of KwaZulu-Natal, where, we had heard, the ANC was now recruiting former IFP supporters. This was all well and good as long as they were receiving political education and not becoming instant delegates. I scanned their ranks, and what was evident was that many sat glassy-eyed, bored and unmoved during Mandela’s recorded address, barely applauding when the old man’s appeal for discipline and unity was over. The delegation from Mpumalanga had the same make-up. This bore out statistics which showed that most newly recruited members hailed from the rural areas.10 I doubted whether many of those delegates would have passed muster had we the means to do a thorough audit of just when they had joined and how long they had been paying their subscriptions or even who was buying their membership for them.11 They were examples of what is sometimes referred to disparagingly as ‘voting cattle’. It was depressing, when one went into the voting station to cast one’s vote, to note these newcomers were armed with checklists of those they had been instructed to vote for. There they were, squinting at names they could never have known anything about and slowly marking their crosses on the ballot papers as they had been instructed. Voting by remote control was what the ANC’s inner democracy had degenerated into.
I had some hope that the 60 per cent camp might have sufficient deserters once they came to the secret ballot process. And that Mbeki might sway many of their number by his keynote address. That could arguably give him an advantage over Zuma if he played his cards right. It could possibly alter the 60–40 ratio to something more like a 50–50 chance. When you go into battle, you need to believe you can win. I knew how convincing Mbeki could be when he spoke without notes. But if he elected to read a two-hour-long speech, he would lose many in the audience. My advice to him was to rely on the oratory he possessed. However, when he came to the podium and began to read out his formal speech, which was an account of the implementation of the previous conference’s resolutions, the ANC’s and government’s record over the past five years, and plans for the future, I lost all hope. It was heavy-going. This was not a crowd who cared to listen to such bookish facts. But Mbeki pressed on regardless. His mind, I believed, was fixed on his duty of being accountable to a historical legacy which, for him, trumped the transitory nature of the moment. It was more like being prepared to lose a battle but win the approval of history. The rational intellectual within the man always beat any vestige of populist emotion. That was Thabo Mbeki through and through. Many mistakenly assume he is a cold fish, but this misses the essence of the man’s integrity – although many, even those close to him, would regard his decision to read a dry speech at the conference as a fatal error of judgement.
Perhaps the most pertinent aspect of Mbeki’s political report was in asking the conference to ‘honestly and frankly’ consider three direct questions:
Undoubtedly Mbeki’s second question was meant to prompt the conference into reflecting on the consequences of electing into the ANC’s highest office a candidate so flawed that the outcome for the organisation could be and would be extremely grave, if not catastrophic. That was relying on an appeal to the intellect rather than the heart of the delegates.
Over the next days the ANC went through the rituals of discussing policy in the various commissions. It was during this time that groups were called to cast their votes. All minds were on the election results: policy issues, as vital as they were, came (except for the purists) a very poor second. By the time these were announced, tension had reached fever pitch. Zuma received 2,329 votes to Mbeki’s 1,505 – a difference of 824 – and his supporters went ballistic. If we had managed to turn 413 voters, Mbeki would have pipped Zuma: by no means an impossibility. What hurt was not the frenzy of the crowd, the crowing at the losers, people gyrating in triumph or the general pandemonium, but the sight of Thabo Mbeki, which became etched in my mind. It has been said elsewhere, by Mosibudi Mangena, the Azapo leader and former cabinet minister, that Mbeki in adversity ‘was a study in calmness, discipline and dignity … dead calm in the eye of the storm’.12 That was exactly how it struck me at Polokwane that fateful day. He walked over to congratulate Jacob Zuma, the ANC president-elect. It was a slow walk, he must have been hurting deeply, but the rational intellect of the man provided distance from the moment and I am sure that is how he was able to cope – then and later. Mbeki’s entire bearing was honourable, dignified, stoic, brave, although the light had disappeared from his complexion and his face was ashen. He shook Zuma’s hand and cordially embraced him. At last Zuma was at ease. He had reached the second top rung of the ladder. The country’s presidency awaited him. That relaxed image of Jacob Zuma would be rarely seen again in the years ahead if one discounted his muscular but superficial joviality. I put on a brave face and, when interviewed, tried to be upbeat, explaining that the event showed the democratic process at work.13
Polokwane saw the beginning of possibly an irretrievable rot in the ANC. At Polokwane the faction that sought to unseat Mbeki did so at all costs. By hook or by crook they fanned the flames of anger and disunity; encouraged disrespect and thuggish behaviour; tampered with the nomination of delegates at branch level; flooded the conference with instant recruits whose political understanding was negligible; allegedly bought the votes of delegates with cash; and sought to settle old scores. The last thing on their minds was the open wounds inflicted on the ANC and the country. If some of the Mbeki supporters used some such methods, and I did pick up indications of the buying of votes on our side, it was not the wholesale machination and intimidatory tactics used by the Zumaites. The emergent leaders, victors at Polokwane, looked on silently as their storm troopers insulted Mbeki and his outgoing NEC. A new form of behaviour, alien to the ANC, swept through the organisation and stole its heart and soul without a thought of the consequences. The disease seeped through its intestines like maggot-infested meat. Some of those who led the onslaught would come to rue the day they did so, as their champion, Jacob Zuma, would stab them in the back while laughing in their faces. But it would prove too late. The emergence of a corrupt and vindictive strongman able to purchase loyalty on the basis of fleecing the state, crooked deals and a network of patronage, wrought irreparable damage and paved the way for the later so-called state capture by the Gupta family. This was the inevitable outcome of the turbulent and fetid backwash of the tsunami, which Zwelinzima Vavi and others had failed to take into account.
My friend Jeremy Cronin, judging Zuma would open up space for the left, was delighted with the Polokwane result. He introduced me to a journalist from L’Humanité, the French Communist Party newspaper, Pierre Barbancey. Seeking my views, Barbancey mentioned that Jeremy regarded Polokwane as a revolutionary advance. What was my opinion? The opposite, I replied; in fact, what had occurred was counter-revolutionary and the SACP would learn about Zuma the hard way – irrespective of how many communists he would initially appoint to his cabinet. In the event Barbancey wrote a glowing report influenced by Jeremy’s view, but told me ten years later on the eve of a SACP’s national congress, where we met again: ‘I must confess that you were right when I met you in Polokwane.’14
A feature of ANC conferences is the hours and hours of time spent in commissions where policy is debated. As much as the ANC attempts to project policy as key, the fact is that, as at Polokwane, the election of leaders and the struggle between factions have become overwhelming. The final resolutions look impressive but tend to be a ritual where wordsmiths create a quasi-revolutionary spin, on the one hand, and a bland, all-encompassing rhetoric, on the other, under the rubric of the NDR – the National Democratic Revolution. Whatever the fine words, the proof of achievement must be in the implementation, and that is where the ANC has had woeful results. Mocking the optimistic claims of the 2007 conference were dire organisational shortcomings, growing unemployment, lack of economic growth, rising poverty, a widening gulf between rich and poor, deteriorating health and educational facilities, a rise in corruption and crime, police brutality and a relentless slide into a security state. ‘National conference after national conference, NGC after NGC, the same burning issues have been raised. But there has been no viable success in really tackling them,’ writes Khulu Mbatha, who served in the ANC from 1976 and later in government.15
Despite talk of a revolutionary shift at Polokwane, and no matter how much the SACP would try to shy away from acknowledging a dangerous personality cult surrounding Jacob Zuma, the legacy of the conference was bound to be the triumph of primitive factional methods of resolving rivalries and irreparable damage for the movement. And the country. The Polokwane Tsunami shipwrecked the ANC as we had known it.