Presidential Residence, Pretoria, 28 September 2008
A WEEK AFTER THE POLOKWANE conference, the Scorpions finally served their indictment on the newly elected ANC president, Jacob Zuma.1 The charge sheet enumerated 783 counts of racketeering, money laundering, corruption and fraud.
There was outrage among Zuma’s supporters, who predictably alleged the charges were a counter-revolutionary conspiracy to prevent him from standing for the country’s presidency in the 2009 national elections. The claim was that the decision to prosecute had been deliberately delayed to see if he would win the ANC presidential elections at Polokwane. And, if so, then the Scorpions would strike. That was the irrational, self-serving logic Zuma and company revelled in. According to such reasoning, what if Zuma had lost? He most certainly would still have been charged. If the indictment had been served on him before Polokwane, his camp would have argued in the exact same vein.
The tsunami was, however, by no mean spent. After Polokwane the national government of President Thabo Mbeki should have lasted another sixteen months, until April 2009 when the next national elections were due. Whatever the fault lines between the two centres of power, Pretoria and Luthuli House, nothing was done to reconcile differences and effectively manage the transition. Mbeki appeared unconcerned. But the smell of the blood of the wounded Mbeki, and the vindictiveness of the victors intoxicated with power, proved overwhelming. While they rubbed their hands with glee at the prospect of the 2009 national elections, which would certainly elect Jacob Zuma as president of the country, the opportunity to rub salt into the wounds of their enemies arose from an unexpected quarter.
Zuma’s legal team appealed against the corruption charges served on him after his election at Polokwane. Nine months later, on 12 September 2008, after considering the appeal papers and hearing argument, Judge Chris Nicholson in the Pietermaritzburg High Court held that Zuma’s corruption charges were unlawful on procedural grounds. In his judgment Nicholson strayed from the issue at hand, and declared that he believed there was political interference in the timing of the charges brought against Zuma, criticised Mbeki’s reasons for sacking him, and accused three consecutive national directors of public prosecution of wrongdoing.2
Zuma and his supporters were naturally ecstatic. They gyrated in jubilation outside the Pietermaritzburg court, with Blade Nzimande and Zweli Vavi at the fore, alongside numerous ANC National Executive Committee (NEC) members, as well as a more subdued Kgalema Motlanthe. At long last they had a judgment that concurred there was a conspiracy to prevent Zuma from becoming president of South Africa.
At least one aspect of the Nicholson judgment, that concerning political interference, was questionable in that no such issue was before the judge; and, moreover, he had come to that opinion without giving Mbeki the opportunity to be heard. Mbeki consequently immediately appealed against the decision with his cabinet’s backing. The appeal was like a red rag to Zuma’s supporters, who chose to interpret the move as yet another attempt by Mbeki to prevent their man from attaining the country’s highest office. The tsunami had not abated and was still to reach its full extent. An angry NEC, composed mainly of Zuma acolytes elected at Polokwane, promptly debated the issue for an entire day, the majority baying for Mbeki’s blood. During the course of the day the issue of his immediate recall as the country’s president arose but was not immediately agreed to since some equivocated while a few, such as Pallo Jordan and Joel Netshitenzhe, by no means Zuma supporters, counselled against it.
At the end of the day’s deliberation a belligerent NEC concluded that Mbeki was no longer fit to govern South Africa and by the next morning served notice on him to resign forthwith from the position. Mbeki could have stood his ground and insisted that parliament – which had appointed him – should debate the issue and come to a decision. But as a disciplined member of the ANC, as he had consistently stated, he regarded the NEC’s instruction as obligatory, tendering his resignation without demur on 20 September 2008. The ANC swiftly appointed the party’s deputy president, Kgalema Motlanthe, in his place. This would be a stopgap measure until the May 2009 general election, which would give Zuma his opportunity. The likelihood was that Zuma would certainly become the country’s fourth president in the democratic era. How different things might have been if in fact Motlanthe, an infinitely better candidate than Zuma, had remained president instead. Flushed with triumph, Zuma announced that he would be happy to serve one term as president. Famous last words. For me, when Zuma appears to accept a loss in power, be ready for the opposite outcome.
Mbeki’s serving ministers were then summoned to meet Zuma and officials at the NEC venue. In jovial mood he asked a dozen of us who were no longer on the NEC whether we would stay on in our posts. Terror Lekota and I spoke up, disabusing him of the notion. I made the point in as convivial a manner as I could muster, that since we as cabinet ministers were party to Mbeki’s decision to appeal against the Nicholson judgment, a decision for which Mbeki was being recalled, it was inappropriate that we should continue serving in office. Within the week twelve ministers tendered their resignations. Trevor Manuel was one of us, but not for long. He was soon back in office, the only one among us, as the country’s minister of finance.
Mbeki presided over his last cabinet on 24 September in a sombre but brave mood. He was politically correct through and through. He effortlessly summed up the situation, stated that it had been an honour to lead us and the country, and invited cabinet ministers to speak if they wished. Almost everyone accepted his invitation, making eloquent, often lengthy and sentimental statements. Quite a few of the contributions were insincere, to say the least, as many present, one suspected, had already made arrangements with Zuma rather than Motlanthe, who would be sworn in as interim president without delay. Of these quite a few were women, who would never have had such opportunities without the gender empowerment methodically introduced by Mbeki over the years. I made a brief speech, thanking the president for having given me the opportunity to serve, and said that he would be vindicated by history.
Perhaps the most exceptional assessment of Mbeki as president came from a more neutral standpoint than that of his own party members. Mosibudi Mangena, who had been minister of science and technology in Mbeki’s cabinet, and president of the Azanian People’s Organisation (Azapo), declared in his measured way: ‘When I entered the executive in 2001 … I wondered what it would be like for a member of Azapo to work with ANC leaders in “their” government … It was soon apparent that one had joined a hard-working team … trying to do their best for the country … Issues were discussed openly and transparently.
‘Stories abound about former president Thabo Mbeki’s dictatorial attributes. If he does have such features, he must have displayed them elsewhere. In government meetings he would allow everybody to have their say before summing up.’3
If Mangena had been in my shoes as intelligence minister, I believe he would have had the same opinion. In my four years in that powerful post I can attest to the fact that Mbeki never once displayed a dictatorial temperament. He listened to what I had to report or say and quietly discussed matters, not once asserting his decision over mine. And what Mangena had noted of his manner in cabinet was similar to Mbeki’s handling of NEC meetings. If the collective ended up agreeing with him, it was after long discussions and then the invariable soundness of his summation.
Just prior to the speeches at the last cabinet meeting there had been a single item on the agenda. I had a report concerning reforms of the intelligence services. This was the culmination of over a year’s sitting, research and deliberation of the Matthews Commission, which I had set up following the Masetlha saga.4 The report, however, has been gathering dust ever since Zuma and the parliamentary Joint Standing Committee on Intelligence ignored it. The findings were of historic import and could have gone a long way in addressing the many abuses of power that have been manifest ever since. It was with relief that Mbeki had agreed that I could table the document at the cabinet meeting, which meant it was on the agenda for government and parliamentary attention.
In a supreme irony, and twist of history, the Nicholson judgment, which had led to Mbeki’s recall, was subsequently thrown out by the Supreme Court of Appeal (SCA) in January 2009, thereby vindicating Mbeki. A unanimous SCA bench, led by deputy president Judge Louis Harms, ruled that Nicholson was wrong to declare the charges against Zuma unlawful.5 As Adriaan Basson wrote, ‘Harms erased all of that with one thick stroke, putting an abrupt end to the ANC’s short-lived euphoria after Nicholson’s judgment. It was, after all, a dream ruling for the ruling party, which now faces the real possibility of going into the 2009 elections with a fraud suspect at its helm.’6
Basically the deputy president of the SCA told Nicholson that he did not know what he was doing. Under the heading ‘The judicial function’, Harms lectured Nicholson on the functions of a judge. ‘It is crucial to provide an exposition of the functions of a judicial officer because, for reasons that are impossible to fathom, the court below [Nicholson] failed to adhere to some basic tenets, in particular that in exercising the judicial function judges are themselves constrained by the law.’ In particular, Nicholson failed to confine his judgment ‘to the issues before the court by deciding matters that were not germane or relevant; by creating new factual issues; by making gratuitous findings against persons who were not called upon to defend themselves; by failing to distinguish between allegation, fact and suspicion; and by transgressing the proper boundaries between judicial, executive and legislative functions.’
The SCA found that Nicholson had let his personal opinion on matters cloud his judgement. ‘Judges as members of civil society are entitled to hold views about issues of the day and they may express their views provided they do not compromise their judicial office. But they are not entitled to inject their personal views into judgments or express their political preferences.’ This was specifically relevant to Nicholson’s remarks about Mbeki’s reasons for sacking Zuma and standing for a third term as ANC president.
All the same, shooting down Nicholson came too late to spare Mbeki the embarrassment of a premature recall from office by his own party. The tsunami had done its damage. Mbeki’s adversaries paid no attention to the SCA judgment and did not even have the grace to apologise for the vindictiveness of their behaviour. But the SCA ruling did also spell out a big headache for Zuma, for it meant that the corruption charges, and hence further court hearings, still lay ahead for him.
I sat with Mbeki through his last night as South Africa’s president on 28 September 2008. During the day a stream of comrades visited the official residence to pay their respects and display their solidarity. Ministers, state officials, all ANC to the core, who had admired the man through the years of struggle and into those of power, gathered about him. Mbeki was coolness personified. His staff served endless plates of snacks and poured the appropriate drinks. Most needed stiff shots of spirits. The mood was sombre and reflective. But at the back of everyone’s mind was the unpredictable course on which the ANC was set. Commiserating with Mbeki was not on the cards. His stoicism and dignity said ‘lay off’.
Guests began drifting away as the night wore on. Aziz Pahad and I remained until late since we lived nearby on the estate. We chatted and sipped whisky. We talked of the international situation. It was not forced. Mbeki enjoyed that subject, and it kept us away from the unpalatable subject: the imminent end of his term of office. Mbeki did not appear to be as preoccupied as Aziz and I were about the ticking of the clock. I do not know of Aziz’s reflections, but every fifteen minutes the clock in Mbeki’s office – to which the three of us had retreated – chimed asthmatically. Our conversation droned on, but I scarcely paid attention. Thirty minutes to go. Another whisky, please. ‘Yes, comrade President, I think Russia will stand by Iran,’ I was mouthing, though my thoughts were mesmerised by the swinging pendulum. The fifteen-minute chime. The clock needed oiling. A big gulp of the amber fluid. Aziz was rattling on. Mbeki was thoughtful. The man was oblivious to the passing of time … nine interminable minutes more and his presidency would be over. Aziz was rattling on even more excitedly, which is the way he gets under pressure, so I realised he too was preoccupied with the passing of the time. Mbeki nodded sagely and, deep in thought, gave a response about the prospects for the African Renaissance. I have braced myself for the hour chime. It begins slowly and agonisingly. I count the beats, one … two … three … Mbeki is speaking about the African Union … nine more beats to go and his presidency is over … Four … five … six … I stand up, meaning to go over to shake his hand, but think better of it … as he shakes his head over the problem of Gaddafi and the greater Africa ‘messing up the entire concept of pan-Africanism, that man … brother leader,’ he guffaws in an understated way, his characteristic hallmark when scoffing about a rival. The point of midnight comes and goes. Mbeki holds forth for the next ten minutes about the African Renaissance. I am overwhelmed by the sense of history and by the sense of vision which marked his presidency, whatever errors one may number. I am overwhelmed by the fact that one second makes the difference between a man being president of a country and then not. I realise I am somewhat tipsy. What on earth had I imagined? That the man would turn into a pumpkin, and Aziz and I into dormice? We had simply reached a fleeting point in time. A chain of events, set in motion by contending forces and wills, often with unintended consequences, has culminated in this night. Perhaps Mbeki sees it as quite banal, which is why he is almost aloof from the drama and does not dwell on the moment at all. I think of Shakespeare’s Macbeth:
Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I take my leave.
According to official regulations I had twenty-four hours to vacate my office and a month to get out of my residence. When your time of service expired, the state turned merciless and brushed you off in the quickest possible time. We were mere players after all. Our power was ephemeral and dissolved once the spotlights had dimmed.
As I sauntered home across the shadowy lawns in the milky moonlight, I mused about Mbeki’s fate. Most would see in him a Julius Caesar, slain by his colleagues who feared he sought an emperor’s crown. I saw an aspect of Hamlet, who procrastinated too long before accepting that his murderous relative bore him ill will, and hence his doubts prevented him from committing to a timeous course of action. Tossing and turning that night in bed, I was taunted by images of three sangomas, closely resembling ministers, who have stabbed Mbeki in the back. They cast their spells into the cooking pot and their incantation rings out in the forests of Nkandla:
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
I wake with a start from my uneasy slumber. I realise I have been dwelling more on the character of Zuma than of Mbeki. I thought of pretenders and kings, of generals and presidents with whom I had been intimately involved. It is Shakespeare who so brilliantly reveals the lust and ambition of men and women: there are those who through service and sacrifice attain the throne; and then there are those who ditch their principles and values. Those are the ones of flawed character corrupted by power. As with a tsunami, none escape damage.