Newsmaker of the year: Jacob Zuma — the face of an insurrection

No one individual has done more to delegitimise the state and subvert the rule of law in SA this past year than Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma.

During his nine years as president, Zuma’s treachery was hidden by the façade of officialdom. He was protected by a coterie of compromised ministers, submissive law enforcement agencies and an ANC whose moral compass had been jettisoned at the elective conference in Polokwane in 2007, when he assumed leadership of the party.

Yet it was only on leaving office that he shrugged off all pretence, and openly rode roughshod over the constitution and the law.

In the end, 2021 will be remembered as a year of legal reckoning for the former president: he was jailed for contempt of court, and failed — again — to have the court throw out arms-deal corruption charges against him. It was also a year in which the deadliest riots this side of apartheid played out across SA — ostensibly in Zuma’s name, and ably cheered on by his children.

Once the smoke cleared, more than 300 people lay dead, and the economy, already battered by Covid, was R50bn poorer.

The tinderbox

On July 15 2019, Zuma sat in the witness box at the commission of inquiry into state capture, chaired by deputy chief justice Raymond Zondo.

It had been a long road to get there. Back in 2016, then public protector Thuli Madonsela recommended in her "State of Capture" report that a commission of inquiry be set up to probe allegations of corruption and state capture. Her report contained disturbing evidence about Zuma’s allies the Guptas, his son Duduzane Zuma, and key ministers and government officials.

At first, Zuma sought to have the report and its recommendations set aside on review (he failed).

But things only got worse for him: after his chosen successor, Nkosazana Dlamini Zuma, lost to Cyril Ramaphosa at the 2017 ANC elective conference at Nasrec, one of Ramaphosa’s first tasks as ANC president was to direct Zuma to set up the commission. Zuma, powerless without the cover of the ANC presidency, had to comply.

Still, it took over a year — after much wrangling with Zuma’s lawyers, and after more than 40 witnesses implicated him in wrongdoing — before Zuma finally agreed to appear before Zondo on July 15 2019.

The days that followed were marked by obfuscation, denial, bizarre legal arguments and conspiracy theories — not least of which, in Zuma’s telling, was a 30-year plot by local and foreign spies to keep him away from the presidency and to kill him. These faceless, nameless foes continued stalking him, he said, even after failing to prevent his ascent.

Yet Zuma’s channelling of his inner Ian Fleming wasn’t even the highlight of his short stint in the witness box.

When faced with questions about how he had outsourced his executive power to Atul Gupta, Zuma became unstuck: his usual jovial, cocky veneer slipped, he shifted in his seat, cleared his throat repeatedly and fidgeted; his lawyers, seeing this obvious discomfort, jumped up and down.

Four days later, Zuma summarily withdrew from the commission, his testimony incomplete. It was, his lawyers said, the fault of the commission’s evidence leaders.

What followed was a feverish court battle, which included Zondo approaching the Constitutional Court to compel Zuma to appear before him. The court supported that application in January this year, but it wasn’t kind on Zondo either, accusing the commission of treating the former president with kid gloves.

Thus began Zuma’s road to prison.

Days after the ruling, Zuma announced he would not abide by the Constitutional Court order, which led the court to find him in contempt. It didn’t help Zuma’s case that he chose not to defend himself, even after then chief justice Mogoeng Mogoeng gave him an additional opportunity to make his case.

Instead, Zuma did what he does best, whingeing about his plight and playing the victim. It kick-started the second prong of his legal strategy: propaganda.

The spark

Zuma’s whingeing hinged on three themes: he was a victim of bias by the courts; his treatment by the judiciary was reminiscent of the apartheid era; and he was to be detained without trial.

All of this was a lie.

First, Zuma chose not to participate in a court hearing against him, failing to submit affidavits in his own defence. His strategy was to avoid participating in the state capture commission at all costs. You can see why. The allegations — for example, that he was a beneficiary of an intelligence slush fund — made the arms-deal corruption charges look like a Sunday picnic.

By refusing to participate, he could keep open one avenue to discredit the commission: challenge Zondo’s final report, and argue that his side of the story wasn’t heard. It was, effectively, the groundwork for a longer-term legal strategy to fend off any possible charges.

What he didn’t count on was the damning judgment by the Constitutional Court — and a 15-month jail sentence for contempt.

So the Zuma propaganda machinery went to work again, whipping supporters into a frenzy, repeating his lie that this amounted to "detention without trial" and "judicial bias".

Zuma’s children fanned the flames too — particularly his daughter Duduzile Zuma-Sambudla, who took to Twitter with a vengeance. Elsewhere, WhatsApp groups driven by the ANC’s "radical economic transformation" faction, business lobby groups, xenophobic truckers and rogue Umkhonto we Sizwe operators aligned to Zuma all got to work.

As Zuma, at the 11th hour, handed himself over to the Estcourt correctional services centre on July 8, the fuse had been lit by his supporters. No matter what laws he had broken, his allies weren’t going to stand for his imprisonment.

In truth, Zuma’s jailing "was a victory for the rule of law", says Council for the Advancement of the SA Constitution executive director Lawson Naidoo. "For a former head of state to be sentenced to a jail term for contempt of court is hugely significant."

But Zuma would serve fewer than two months before being released on medical parole — by none other than his long-term ally, the former correctional services commissioner Arthur Fraser.

Still, says Naidoo, the fact that he was jailed at all is important.

The fire

By the morning of July 9, parts of KwaZulu-Natal (KZN), and then Gauteng, were on fire.

Blockades and sporadic protests in support of Zuma had morphed into large-scale looting of malls; those directing events posted messages to WhatsApp groups.

All the while, Zuma-Sambudla continued to hold court in her taxpayer-sponsored castle at Nkandla, cheerleading from the side.

"Iziqhumane ZaKwaZulu … Silindile [Shooters out in KwaZulu, we are waiting]," read one post, along with a clip of a machine gun being fired in the air. She tweeted pictures of burning trucks, highways ablaze, each with the location and the words "We see you, Amandla!" and #FreeJacobZuma.

What may have started as a grievance linked to Zuma had mutated into rioting and looting, fuelled by SA’s eye-watering levels of unemployment and desperate poverty. Thousands descended on shopping malls, looting electronics, liquor, clothing — anything they could get their hands on.

More than 150 malls were attacked, along with 11 warehouses, eight factories and 161 liquor stores and factories. More than 300 people died, many trampled to death.

Months down the line, Citi economist Gina Schoeman says it’s still difficult to quantify the exact loss to the economy. But without the July unrest, the third-quarter GDP figures released by Stats SA last week, which showed the economy contracting 1.5% quarter on quarter, would have looked rather different. "There are various industry estimates of the cost in [rand] terms, but it is obvious from economic growth the cost of the event," she tells the FM.

More insidiously, given that such violence is no longer considered an abstract risk but a real possibility, there will also probably be longer-term costs.

"Has [the violence] increased SA’s risk premium, which ultimately increases the cost of capital, which requires a higher rate of return on investment? For sure. It is part of the narrative when discussing uncertainty — politically, policy-wise and economically," says Schoeman.

"[It’s] a very big threat, especially when unemployment and inequality continue to worsen. It is difficult to argue for social stability with those record-high metrics. It adds to the growing view that political and policy uncertainty remain extremely high."

This is now reflected in one of the steepest yield curves in the world, as the government must compensate for its higher risk premium by paying more interest on its debt.

The ashes

After days of unrest, Ramaphosa deployed 25,000 soldiers to KZN and Gauteng. It was embarrassingly late in the game, and happened only after footage revealed a police force completely out of its depth. In some places the police were outmanned, but in others they nonchalantly sat on the sidelines, ignoring the unfolding mayhem.

If Zuma’s supporters acted, Ramaphosa’s administration dithered in response. As SA burnt, politicians did what they do best: very little, with a smattering of confusion.

The government couldn’t even agree on what to call the unrest. Ramaphosa characterised it as a "failed insurrection", only to be contradicted days later by defence minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula. Then when state security minister Ayanda Dlodlo said she had provided the police with intelligence of possible riots weeks before they occurred, police minister Bheki Cele flatly denied this.

As far as bad farce goes, it was Wag the Dog meets the Keystone Cops.

In the end, much of the violence was curbed by communities who took matters into their own hands.

In KZN, that took on a deadly and decidedly racist flavour, with the Indian community in Phoenix targeting members of the black community in a spate of vigilante killings. In Soweto, Tembisa and parts of Mpumalanga, communities began defending their malls, stopping looters from destroying the already meagre infrastructure in sprawling informal settlements.

But perhaps the most demoralising part of it all was the aftermath.

As the dust cleared, the government vowed that the masterminds would be brought to book; the police claimed 12 key instigators were under investigation.

To date there have been 18 arrests — and no indication whether any of these were of the alleged masterminds of the violence. The specifics of the "insurrection" have yet to be detailed in any court papers.

In hindsight, independent political analyst Ralph Mathekga believes Ramaphosa was entirely wrong to characterise it as an attempted insurrection. If it was, he asks, why has the administration taken so long to properly effect arrests?

The "trigger point", Mathekga says, was the ANC itself. In reality, it wasn’t an insurrection; it was an "environment of mutiny" created by a party lacking the basic discipline to resolve internal differences amicably, he explains.

Once the spark was lit, those instigating the riots lost control

But what the violence showed so clearly is that the collapse of SA’s security cluster is far worse than anyone imagined. The recent SA Human Rights Commission hearings on the riots have simply underscored this terrifying truth.

During the hearings, government departments were at each other’s throats. So, too, were Cele and national police commissioner Khehla Sitole, trading blame for the absence of any real policing during the unrest. It was hard to disagree with Mapisa-Nqakula, who concluded that the police didn’t have a handle on the situation.

This week, University of Pretoria professor Sandy Africa’s panel, charged with looking into the government and the security cluster’s response, is set to present its draft report on the July unrest to Ramaphosa.

It is believed to offer a comprehensive — and damning — account of events.

Ramaphosa has already shaken up his cabinet once since the unrest, ousting some ministers in the security cluster. Further shifts may be on the cards, given the Africa report, as well as Zondo’s final report, which is set to be handed to the president early next year.

As for Zuma? This week he released the first instalment of his biography, Jacob Zuma Speaks. It won’t surprise anyone to learn that it’s hardly the long-awaited tell-all about the skeletons in his comrades’ closets; rather, it’s a sanitised and glowing account of his presidency — a period Ramaphosa has called "nine wasted years".

It may be Zuma firing up the propaganda machine early, ahead of Zondo’s final report, due on January 1. Once Ramaphosa gets that document, expect Zuma and his allies to again attack the judiciary.

The key question will be whether Ramaphosa is ready to act on the findings — particularly in an ANC election year, with Zuma’s remaining allies in the party looking for any excuse to weaken the president.

Zuma may not be in jail any more, but he’s not off the hook. Apart from his pending corruption trial, the DA is challenging his release on medical parole. And Zuma-Sambudla faces possible criminal charges for inciting violence.

It means that, sadly, the country hasn’t seen the last of the 79-year-old Zuma — whose ability to weaken the fabric of its democracy has left any legacy he may have claimed in tatters..

The key question still is: will Cyril Ramaphosa be ready to act on the Zondo findings — particularly in an ANC election year?

—  What it means:

A most conspicuous absence

There may be no crisis at the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA), according to national director of public prosecutions Shamila Batohi, but there’s not much else either.

Certainly, no results to speak of. No cases in court or culprits in the dock, let alone the prospect of an actual jail sentence for any of the money-grubbing crooks who, having plundered SA’s purse, are still happily tearing about the country, Fendi-suited, Gucci-booted, swinging the odd Louis Vuitton bag.

South Africans might have hoped Batohi would be the FM’s newsmaker of 2021 for precisely that rare thing the public is desperate to see: accountability. Instead, she’s kept a lower profile than an ANC member at confession — other than her media briefing and parliamentary appearance last week, that is, where she was grilled over the resignation of Investigating Directorate (ID) head Hermione Cronje.

DA MP and former NPA prosecutor Glynnis Breytenbach puts it succinctly: “We are three years down the line [from Batohi’s appointment], and we have seen very little progress. It is not good enough to tell us we need to be patient. Our patience has run out. That runway is closed. We need to see results, we need to see people in court, we need to see prosecutions. We need to see people going to jail. It’s as simple as that.”

Speaking to the FM following Batohi’s appearance in parliament, Breytenbach says there are plenty of large-scale corruption cases dating back to the early 2010s that “must get attended to”.

But there are more recent ones that would boost citizens’ confidence in the criminal justice system if prosecutions were brought, she says. “South Africans should be able to see that if you break the law you go to jail.”

Breytenbach cites the theft of public funds destined for personal protective equipment (PPE) to combat Covid, and the Life Esidimeni horror.

“Stealing money from PPE — that’s a priority. When you send disabled people off to die — that’s a priority,” she says. “As soon as you do this, all this pressure will go away. Then people will be prepared to wait for a result.”

In Batohi’s defence, the NPA hasn’t received anything close to the funding it needs to go after SA’s insouciant crooks. More than R422m was cut from the organisation’s original budget and R41m from the Special Investigating Unit (SIU) in the last financial year (the NPA got R4.5bn, and the SIU R438m).

The ID has a budget of about R324m over three years. “Bubblegum money,” sniffs Breytenbach.

Batohi argues that “moving too fast with cases is counterproductive”. We say moving just a little might be quite helpful.

Giulietta Talevi