National election, 7 May 2014
AS ZUMA’S PRESIDENCY UNROLLED, the signs of the rot marking the decline of the ANC became ever more frequent. All of this fuelled the daily diet of anger and ridicule among South Africans. The abuse of power under Zuma was alarming: not least, the scandal of the upgrade of his Nkandla residence costing R247 million of taxpayers’ money, and the blatant protection by ANC ministers and MPs; and the scapegoating of officials and cover-up of Zuma when the Gupta family were able to use the top-security Waterkloof air force base to fly in 200 wedding guests from India for a Bollywood-style function at Sun City. ‘Guptakloof air base,’ a pilot friend quipped to me.
But what raised anger to boiling point was the slaughter of mine workers by the police at Marikana on 16 August 2012. Zuma’s lame media speech that evening, arguing ‘this is not the time to point fingers’, was that of a president of a country mealy-mouthing the claim of the police commissioner, Riah Phiyega, who had uttered those very words ahead of him. Zuma had plucked her from civilian obscurity and dressed her in a general’s uniform. The militarisation of the police, reinstituting their ranking system among other things, by his administration after the civilian-type reforms of our new democracy was a reflection of the apartheid-style kragdadiheid (reliance on force) that typified that mentality. Consequently, the country had seen such shocking killings on television as the gunning down of the popular teacher Andries Tatane during a peaceful but militant protest in Fiksburg;1 the shocking case of a Mozambican taxi driver being roped to the back of a police van and dragged to his death; increasing media reports and civil society concerns about torture in police cells; and then, the nightmare scenario of Marikana with the merciless slaying of the strike leader, Mgcineni ‘Mambush’ Noki, the man in the green blanket, and thirty-three others, half of whom were executed while seeking to hide behind the rocky landscape that made the location so iconic.2
Like so many, I was incensed by the Marikana massacre.3 I had thrown Zuma’s statement back in his face at the time, emphasising: ‘Now precisely is the time to point fingers!’ I declared that there was a need to look beyond the foot soldiers who squeezed the triggers, not stopping at those higher up in police ranks, but reaching to the very politicians and mine owners, including the one-time National Union of Mineworkers leader, Cyril Ramaphosa, who as a member of the Lonmin board, the London-listed platinum mining company, had been in close touch with government ministers, urging firm action, and even higher – all the way up to ‘Number One’, as the sycophants had taken to referring to Zuma. At the Farlam Commission of Inquiry it appears that everything was done by the state to shield the police minister, Nathi Mthethwa, and the mining minister, Susan Shabangu, herself a former union leader, from accountability. I well knew from my own ministerial experience that there was no way that the ministers and the president himself could not have been involved in decision making as the stand-off developed into a national crisis.
One of my last pieces of advice, before I retired, to my Communist Party comrades in parliament – Blade Nzimande, Jeremy Cronin, Yunus Carrim, Ben Martins and Buti Manamela among them – was a warning that they needed to be extra vigilant under Zuma, who would increase the powers of the police and the security and intelligence agencies. I had forecast that we were moving into a police state. It took ten years for the SACP to begin to raise criticism, and that appeared to be hastened by the increasing outspokenness of the second deputy general secretary, Solly Mapaila.
It was with all these burning issues in mind that I gave a commemorative lecture on Chris Hani in mid-April 2014 in Port Elizabeth, having been invited there by the district branch of the National Union of Metalworkers of South Africa (Numsa). The country’s national general election was due in May, and I was expected to touch on that matter as well.
There was a clear air of expectation from the serried ranks of workers, tough as bolts of steel, sporting the T-shirts of the union. Being with workers was always an antidote to inclinations to depression. The strength and spirit they exuded, the disciplined and serious manner of their debates, were uplifting. They invariably follow statements and speeches with thoughtful focus, and provide a stirring example of good discipline. Before and after speeches their enthusiasm is unbounded and inspiring.
I sketched the life of Hani, who hailed from a poverty-stricken rural village in the region, pointing out his commendable virtues and dealing with the necessary qualities of leadership, from courage to commitment, and, above all, willingness to serve the people. Drawing on the relevance of his life in present-day South Africa, I pointed out how he had been ready to criticise a leadership that was going astray in the difficult exile years of the late 1960s. That drew big applause.
I built on this to remark how in 1991, when he became general secretary of the Communist Party, he had stated that if an ANC government failed to deliver to the people, he would be ready to march against them. That drew even louder applause.
With the backdrop of the police shooting of striking miners at Marikana – many from the Pondoland area of the region – there was a tense silence when I remarked that Chris had added that, of course, we would never expect our government to use batons or tear gas on our people. ‘But they went even further,’ I said, ‘They use hard-nosed bullets and slaughtered our people like dogs.’ It took quite a time for the din to die down and I then noted: ‘How shocked Chris would have been. How angry. He would not have been silent.’
The energy seething through the Port Elizabeth hall was electric. ‘So how shall we vote in the coming elections?’ I enquired.
Many shouted out that they would not be voting. Others yelled that they would stay at home. A roar broke out of ‘Phansi ANC! [Down with the ANC!] Phansi Zuma!’
I was not surprised at the anger but was troubled by the indication that many would not bother to vote. In eloquent or ribald expressions from the floor, it all came down to the failures and corruption of the Zuma government; the fact that the ANC took their vote for granted; the growing poverty, unemployment and brutality.
In addition to the commemorative lecture, Numsa had organised an extensive programme for me in the area. I spoke to students at the city university, to workers in the nearby motor assembly town of Uitenhage, and to smaller groups of motor industry organisers. Everywhere I encountered the same mood of indifference to the upcoming general elections. Engaging with Numsa workers in the Ekurhuleni area of the East Rand, a vast union stronghold, drew the same responses.
I had much to reflect on. Going against the ANC in such an open manner, as I had done, represented a radical parting of the ways, and much personal grief. Yet I thought of the stand I had been projecting as an act of ‘tough love’. This implied that if one’s family member was a public disgrace, then firm, even hurtful action was needed. Acts of denialism, simply papering over the cracks, or sweeping things under the carpet just compounded the problem. An ‘act of love’ meant shaking the ANC out of its stupor before things got much worse.
I began consulting comrades who, like myself, had become extremely disappointed with the dangerous mess the ANC and our government were creating; comrades who did not just wish to complain endlessly at dinner tables and street corners but were action-orientated and wanted to do something before we passed the point of no return. This, I might add, was spurred on by many Numsa members, once loyal to the ANC and the Communist Party, saying that the rot in the ANC was too far gone to save it from within. As for the SACP, it was widely considered to have sold out, having been a major supporter of Zuma, covering for his many scandals, including the shootings at Marikana and the Nkandlagate outrage. There was an initiative within Numsa, in particular on the part of its general secretary, Irvin Jim, his deputy Karl Cloete and others, in cooperation with the sacked Cosatu leader, Zwelinzima Vavi, as well as with disaffected leftists in the political wilderness, towards the formation of a new workers’ party. I had been involved in these talks, but the process was moving very slowly.
I initially had discussions with Nosiviwe Madlala-Routledge, a deputy minister of health and of defence in the Mbeki government, and Louise Colvin, a social activist, who had served MK in exile. We soon brought together several other former MK and ANC members. Among these were the activist Mazibuko Jara and the academic Vish Satgar, both of whom had been expelled from the SACP. On board with us was Barney Pityana, an eminent academic and ANC member, who famously had inspired the Black Consciousness Movement in 1969 along with Steve Biko. They all had experiences similar to mine or had come to similar conclusions. I had taken to travelling around Johannesburg and Pretoria by bus, startling the almost all-African passengers, who soon recognised me and would get into passionate discussions. I was amazed at how many said they would not vote ANC and were even considering voting for the Democratic Alliance (DA).4 In Cape Town I was long accustomed to the so-called coloured people making outrageous jokes about Jacob Zuma; they had been deserting the ANC in droves. And I joined in with the imaginative if ribald way in which they ridiculed ‘shower-kop’ (Zuma) who couldn’t keep his hands off ‘die dogtertjies van sy vriende’ (his friends’ young daughters).
So clumsy had the ANC’s approach been in the Western Cape, needlessly giving the impression that black African needs had to be attended to at the expense of the ‘coloureds’, that the latter had become alienated. This was a vibrant community, the largest demographically in the province, which initially had voted the ANC into power. Not only had they suffered much pain and discrimination under apartheid, and during the centuries of slavery and colonial rule, but they had produced outstanding heroes and heroines of the liberation struggle, many of whom had been martyred. ANC errors had virtually handed the province on a silver platter to the DA.
We convened workshops and exchanged emails to canvas views and work out a collective approach. We had no illusions about making much of a difference, since we had no structures or membership, no possibility of seriously mobilising forces on the ground, and it was already late in the day. However, we spread our forces and managed to meet with grassroots movements: the Mining Affected Communities United in Action of Mpumalanga, the miners of the platinum belt such as at Marikana, the Housing Assembly in Cape Town, the Unemployed People’s Movement in Botshabelo and Grahamstown, and Numsa members in various centres. Most significantly, we felt we could provoke a national debate, and rattle the ANC’s cage for its benefit, for among its other deficiencies was an arrogance, an intolerance of criticism, a denialism about its faults, the withering away of internal democracy.
We launched our election appeal at a well-attended media conference at Witwatersrand University and received front-page coverage in many newspapers.5 The name we chose for our campaign was Sidikiwe/Vukani, translated as We Are Fed Up/Rise Up. We prepared a statement with more than a hundred signatures of struggle activists as well as endorsements from civic organisations, and placed it on our website and distributed it in print form.
The statement in part ran: ‘We are South Africans who played a part in the struggle against apartheid and who have contributed to the building of a democratic South Africa. We want a just, fair and egalitarian society as promised in the Freedom Charter and clarified in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.
‘It is a profound tragedy that these ideals and prospects are being sacrificed on the altar of self-enrichment and power mongering. Corruption, cronyism, control over the public debate have spread like a cancer through the ANC and, because of this, through government and state …’
The declaration ended: ‘As South Africans committed to democracy and social justice, we appeal to all of you who have registered to come out and vote on May 7th … either spoil your ballot [paper] in protest or [vote] in ways that will challenge the huge power and hold of the ANC over the electorate.’
The intervention was welcomed by many who praised us for ‘having the guts to raise issues head on which so many thought of but were nervous of expressing publicly’. Jay Naidoo, the veteran activist and former government minister, lauded us for the guts to confront the ANC.
As anticipated, we encountered hostility and spite from the usual suspects in government and the ANC, such as Lindiwe Sisulu,6 who threatened to criminally charge me for encouraging voters to destroy electoral property, meaning the ballot paper. Her erudite reasoning? Kasrils by encouraging voters ‘to deliberately spoil their ballot papers … is urging ordinary South Africans to commit a criminal offence’.7
She was joined in her fury by Minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula, who accused me of being a traitor, as though in a democracy one could not change parties, especially when your former home had deserted the policy and programme that drew you in the first place. Never shy of publicity, Kebby Maphatsoe, a one-time deserter from an MK camp, who nonetheless became chairperson of the MK Military Veterans Association (MKMVA), accused me of being a counter-revolutionary agent, among other sins. I shrugged that off at the time but it was defamatory vitriol that I would deal with later.
An article by Barney Pityana, in defence of our campaign, was published in several newspapers. Pityana wrote: ‘The Sidikiwe/Vukani Campaign has caused waves. It has touched and rattled the South African political landscape just on the eve of what is likely to be the most contested general election to date … The Sidikiwe Campaign is essentially a conversation within the ANC about the ANC. It is introspective. The champions of the Campaign have not given up on the ANC, and have not formed a political party. The purpose of the Campaign is to challenge the ANC about its faults and shortcomings, and in the end to clean up the organization. It happens outside of the structures of the ANC because the ANC has in fact been captured by a clique that has turned it into an instrument of self-enrichment, and for the control of the state – not for the common good, but for personal benefit.’8
The fifth national democratic election in South African history, which took place on 7 May 2014, went off without a hitch in an exceptionally calm and peaceful manner. There was barely a crime recorded in the police statistics that day. This reflected, whatever the outrageous scandals in which the Zuma government indulged, the outstanding democratic standards of the people of South Africa. And they sent a resounding wake-up call to the government.
The ANC’s share of the vote dropped to 62.15 per cent – the lowest percentage in all five elections. This was the wake-up call, the message of ‘tough love’, we had hoped the electorate would signal to a complacent and arrogant party in denial.
The ANC needed to acknowledge that the 11,437,000 votes they obtained were a mere 36.4 per cent of the voting age public (all those eligible to vote), which stood in total at about 31.4 million. A further 41 per cent chose not to vote at all. We had said in our launch statement: ‘Given the lack of participatory democracy and unacceptable levels of corruption in the ruling party and government, there is little wonder then that millions of voters have abandoned their faith in the ballot box.’ What future was there for our country if the ANC continued its dominance on the basis of ever dwindling numbers of voters?
The Campaign put tactical voting squarely on the table, which led to much reflection and discussion. By choosing a party that would best hold the ruling party and government to account, voters contributed to the rise of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), the DA and, in small measure, the United Democratic Movement of Bantu Holomisa, and to the demise of minority parties whose capacity did not allow for a strong opposition. The EFF was to bring an energetic voice to fill the void created by the absence of any strong left opposition in parliament. On many unforgettable occasions from then on, with twenty-five red-clad MPs, they pressured Zuma in particular during his parliamentary addresses and during question time, exposing his shallowness on TV screens to a spellbound country. The 2014 elections proved a turning point for parliament and for the country, and paved the way for the delivery of a far more terrifying shock for the ANC two years later in the 2016 local government elections. Their share of the total votes cast fell to under 54 per cent and they lost the three major metros of Johannesburg, Tswane and Nelson Mandela Bay (Port Elizabeth).
In a small but important way, with no resources and very few members in number, the Sidikiwe campaigners had contributed to an opening in the political debate. Njabulo Ndebele, the eminent writer, teacher and academic, congratulated the Sidikiwe activists: ‘Thank YOU for prising open this door. May it never close again.’