‘The DA would have ultimately destroyed my soul’: Maimane

In navigating the political landscape, numerous matters required delicate political management, as is often the case in such environments. However, some issues presented particularly challenging complexities. An example of this was the DA’s Dianne Kohler Barnard’s retweeting a call to bring back former president PW Botha, who was very much associated with Apartheid. While it was justifiably met with a backlash, it wasn’t the first time I noticed she was particularly ignorant. 

When she was the DA’s shadow minister of police, Dianne accompanied me to a police station in Tembisa, a large township situated to the north of Kempton Park on the East Rand in Gauteng. Several police guns had gone missing at the station, and the police were said to be untrained. As an oversight visit goes, we were there to get all the facts and see how we could improve the situation.

As we looked in on the prisoners sitting in the cells, Barnard started interrogating the constable in that tone of voice we all know too well — that of a self-righteous, entitled, shrieking madam. Colloquially, South Africans would refer to this person as a Karen. “When last did these prisoners eat?” Kohler Barnard yelled at the constable.

She projected her formidable frame as the constable backed off slightly. He stood silently, looking at her in the way a little boy would look at his mother after she caught him stealing sweets. She had the power and the temerity to humiliate a grown man. And I never spoke up for him. To this day, I deeply regret that moment. It was yet another warning light I erroneously chose to ignore.

When the Kohler Barnard tweeting issue arose, it exacerbated existing tensions within the party. We were striving to convey to South Africans that our party was evolving, that it was inclusive and it represented all citizens. Any indication, even inadvertent, that we were reverting to past ideologies or praising figures associated with Apartheid stirred suspicion and fear among the populace. And rightly so. 

Many White South Africans within the DA felt burdened with the responsibility of appeasing Black voters. And it really wasn’t ever about this. It was a matter of principle not to recognise or praise figures like FW de Klerk or PW Botha. The damage amassing to the party each time Helen [Zille] made such gaffes was becoming unsustainable. After much deliberation, the party leadership reached a resolution that she needed to step down, and I personally informed her that she was effectively being removed from the federal executive as part of the agreement. She could finish her term as premier but certainly could not represent the leadership of the organisation.

This led to the difficult task of announcing her departure at a press conference in Rosebank — a moment that tested my resolve as a leader. Despite stepping down from the federal executive, she remained in her position as premier of the Western Cape — a government role — because I believed she was still capable of governing effectively at the provincial level.

She chose to appeal the charges that her tweets were causing harm to the party and took the matter to court. Our intention was not to oust her entirely, but rather to prevent her from holding an active role in the federal executive, as her actions were causing considerable disruption and damage. Effectively, she would no longer have decision-making authority within the party, which fostered resentment.

Another difficult period for me during my DA years was when mayor Patricia de Lille was under investigation. I have always greatly admired her tenacity, and we served very happily together on the national management committee of the DA after the  DA merged with her party, the Independent Democrats (ID). She had formed the ID in 2003 after breaking away from the Pan Africanist Congress. We’d often joke that we were treated like domestic workers in the party and were dispensable. 

Patricia was mayor of Cape Town from 2011 to 2018. I remember when I received a call towards the end of 2017 from a whistle-blower with allegations of misconduct at the mayor’s office. I believed that any forensic investigation needed to be outsourced, and so we hired Bowman Gilfillan law firm to conduct a probe. The Bowman report, when we received it, alleged that De Lille and senior city officials failed to report tender irregularities and financial losses (including about the MyCiTi bus project). 

The DA also conducted its own investigation that become known as the “Steenhuisen Commission” — a subcommittee headed by chief whip John Steenhuisen. It also found wrongdoing. De Lille had to then provide reasons why she shouldn’t be axed as mayor to the federal executive of the DA when her actions were seen to be harming the DA’s reputation. A second Bowman report contradicted the first one, making the evidence somewhat inconclusive, and with the support of ANC city councillors, Patricia survived a motion of no confidence and remained the mayor.

Colleagues and friends asked me at the time how I could, as the first black leader of the DA, fight to oust the first black mayor of Cape Town. As further allegations of corruption ensued, I got the sense that some of them were racially motivated. I was later pursued in a similar way when it came to the question of how she paid for alterations  to her house. 

The caucus of the City of Cape Town was increasingly in turmoil with infighting and various votes of no confidence. Finally, in August 2018, Patricia and I signed an agreement that she would resign from the DA and as mayor. She claimed that she had not reached an agreement with the party, but had decided out of her own volition to step down. She said in a tweet just after the press conference that she could not take the “consistent abuse”.

Black members of the DA hoped for a transition within the party, but this instilled fear among some White members who worried about job opportunities and other factors

Between incidents like this and, of course, Helen’s tweets, our declining popularity in polls was beginning to reflect the war within the party. Any political party at war with itself is not going to succeed. As one faction within the party sought to diversify the leadership and introduce more Black leaders, some public representatives in parliament felt marginalised. There was pushback from within. Some argued, in alignment with donors and other stakeholders, that the party needed to reclaim its original identity. 

Incidents like the Helen Zille controversy exacerbated tensions, leading to a perception that there was a concerted effort to undermine White individuals within the party. Some of these allegations were exaggerated and baseless, but there were also accusations that we were being lenient towards Black members. This created a dilemma that many leaders of multiracial parties face: the fear of one race becoming dominant while the other fears marginalisation. Often racial loyalty must trump principle, even wrongs must be protected as there is a broader racial struggle waged which can be greater than the issue of misconduct being confronted. 

Black members of the DA hoped for a transition within the party, but this instilled fear among some White members who worried about job opportunities and other factors. This ongoing dilemma persists to this day. In 2019, as we approached the election, these tensions reached a critical point. What was anticipated, as discussed in a strategy session, was that many South Africans, observing the party’s shift towards advocating for Black issues and diversity (something I embedded in the DA’s constitution), began to gravitate back to the Freedom Front Plus. Losing votes made the situation increasingly untenable and difficult. Moreover, as I continued my work, I inadvertently made enemies — individuals who opposed the idea of transformation within the party. 

The DA’s old guard — people like Geordin Hill-Lewis, John Steenhuisen, Helen Zille, Tony Leon, and others —  joined forces to launch personal attacks against me, making my life unbearable. While in denial of this, they partnered with others like Mike Waters and classed themselves as the libertarians of the party and preservers of the DA. I refer to this period as the “Horror of September”, during which they orchestrated negative press coverage about me personally. Their aim was clear: while you can’t directly dismiss someone in a political party, you can make their existence within it excruciatingly uncomfortable.

In 2019, I found myself increasingly disheartened with the organisation. Despite confronting my family about being part of a party perceived as representing White South Africans and enduring the pain of being labelled a sell-out, I had worked hard to grow the party in communities where it had never had a presence before. However, my popularity became a target for those seeking to remove me from leadership.

Having performed poorly in the 2019 elections, and losing voters to the nationalist Freedom Front Plus, the DA’s inner chambers were in a constant state of panic. We set up a commission to investigate the party’s overall performance, and to carve out a way forward to 2024. We had to be responsive; I wanted to be honest about structure, systems, and ensuring that we build an organisation that could deal with the changing dynamics in South Africa. I even thought about changing the name of the DA to shed associations with the past. Tony Leon, Ryan Coetzee, and Michiel LeRoux were given the task of receiving submissions on the future of the organisation.

Apart from these main contributors, there were many others involved, like Thomas Walters and Sandy Van Hoogstraaten, who were part of the research team to capture notes. The initial couple of months of research were good and the commission made ample submissions. One of the first decisions we made involved James Selfe, who had done an incredible job as chairperson of the organisation, but the time had come for him to step down. We met at a federal council to announce the decision. I kept it a secret until Saturday night when I met with the executive.

It was a tough decision because James had been an incredible person to work with. When the decision was announced, and in the discussion that followed (led by John Moodey), it became clear that the provincial leaders were angry about not being brought in on the plan earlier. We concluded that we would support the decision, and that nominations would be open, to ensure that an election be held at the following council. The report was to be tabled, and then we would move the organisation forward from there.

This decision turned out to be the beginning of the war; the hyenas had smelled blood. John Steenhuisen had his eye on the position, and I wanted someone the provincial leaders would support, and who could lead the change. Initially, I was not opposed to Steenhuisen leading. I had wanted to create a personal relationship with the provincial leaders, so I called a meeting with them one weekend, and it transpired that they were concerned about John’s candidacy because they felt he was untrustworthy. 

Steenhuisen got wind of the meeting and took major offence. He suddenly became “unwell” and was unable to attend our meetings. He formed an alliance with the old guard, and they resolved to oppose everything, going out of their way to make life difficult. John felt he would lose the elections, so decided to childishly play a crooked political game. When Mike Waters lost the election as deputy chief whip, the “Coalition of the Aggrieved” was established. 

Their sole focus was to discredit me publicly, and they started with my house. Waldimar Pelser, the editor of the Rapport newspaper, was close friends with Gavin Davis, the DA’s former head of communication and a close ally of Leon, Zille, Hill-Lewis et al. It was no surprise then that the angle of the story run by Rapport regarding the house I had declared to parliament as a benefit, but, according to them, was acquired under dodgy circumstances, was designed to scandalise me. 

The facts are as follows: We rented a house from a business that was partly owned by our family trust and a good friend of mine based in Durban, Wessel Jacobs, also a trustee. The story created the impression that I lived in a mansion. Houses in Cape Town, and in the southern suburbs where it is situated, are generally worth a few million rand. It was suddenly a big deal for a Black man to rent such a house. This was followed by another story blatantly twisted to discredit me: about a car I received from Markus Jooste. Jooste, CEO of Steinhoff International, had just been all over the news for scandalous insider trading and losing South Africans’ millions.

In fact, I had met Jooste a few times; he made a number of donations to the DA, one of which was said car, so when the exposé of his dealings surfaced, many in the DA insisted I give the car back. At that point, I was travelling frequently and often out of the city, so I had no real need for the car. The security detail drove the car. The way I saw it, the car was donated to the DA through fundraising efforts and the party was obligated to provide a vehicle for its leader. Before Jooste’s scandal, this would never have been an issue, but now it was and the story spun by Rapport made false allegations.

Rapport alleged that I was best friends with Jooste, that he had sent me wine, and so of course I wouldn’t want to part with my bff’s car. As far as donor relations go, there are rules and legalities attached to gifts and donations, and I only ever ventured as far as sending Thank You cards to the donors. I obviously sent one to Steinhoff International as well. I also received Thank Yous from other leaders, and from Steinhoff I did indeed get some wine, which I declared. Unbeknown to me, my enemies had sneaked into my office, had taken a picture of the wine box, and used it as the scoop and confirmation that I obviously had been heavily into whatever it was they thought I was doing with Jooste. 

Just to confirm: I never had personal business dealings with the man. The fights became real; they came after my family, accusing me of paying hush money in meetings — all the while using biased journalists and consenting editors as their mouthpieces. But to me it was obvious that those stories had originated with my so-called friends. Who else would have known the more private details that the media came after me with? There are many more instances like these.

The jealousy of my so-called colleagues and the biased, scoop-hungry journalists made it such that any gift given to me or even to my wife suddenly needed to become public knowledge. What was hardest for me was probably how let down I felt by DA colleagues I had considered good friends. People who had been in my home and who I cared about were not standing up for me but instead were watching gleefully from the sidelines. What causes people to act in this manner, given the real problems of the country? 

History surely cannot record that the DA decided that Black leaders should not be part of it because of a rented house and a donated car? It confirmed for me that, for the DA, liberalism was not something born in South Africa but an imported Western concept. The DA’s views on this are out of context and timeline, so it is by nature a conceptual import from an old dying universe.

Looking back, I’ve witnessed instances where the governance landscape remained largely unchanged, highlighted in reports from institutions like Harvard. The DA’s rejection of concepts such as redress and redistribution, and its reluctance to address systemic injustices, harkens back to the era of separate development. While I acknowledge the complexities and failures of legislation like BEE, I’ve always emphasised the need for justice and equitable mechanisms, even if they focus on initiatives like enhancing Black education.

However, the DA’s stance on these matters often revolved around the fear of perpetuating Apartheid-like policies through race-based measures. While I understand this concern, I firmly believe that becoming blind to race risks overlooking the enduring realities of racial inequality in our society. By dismissing initiatives aimed at addressing these disparities, the DA effectively excludes the experiences of those relegated to the margins of economic prosperity and opportunity.

These fundamental disagreements led me to conclude that the DA was not the vehicle to realise the inclusive, prosperous nation that so many aspire to. At the time of my resignation from the DA I was confident I would win the congress, the federal executive, the whole lot!

My vision for an inclusive and potentially governing DA had lost the war to a fightback campaign. Some wanted a party that represented White interests, a party for the Western Cape and not all of South Africa, and I still wanted the organisation to pursue the interests of all South Africans. The preservation of these White imperatives became a matter of ensuring the caucus remained largely White; that its policies would only be more animated by fighting for interests like the preservation of the Afrikaans language at Stellenbosch University, instead of others like the inclusion of students through higher education.

My vision for an inclusive and potentially governing DA had lost the war to a fightback campaign

I also felt that certain party members were then mobilising donors to fund their projects and leaving projects that others of us supported to the wayside. In October 2019, Helen Zille was elected as DA federal chair. The next day, Herman Mashaba resigned from the DA, giving up his mayoral role in Johannesburg, and the people in the party who would fight for the vulnerable communities were fast diminishing. I discussed my own plans to leave with Natalie extensively. It was not easy — we had made great sacrifices — and now, I was going to be resigning from my job and salary and following a different path. But ultimately I realised that I could not remain in a party with such a clash of visions; it would destroy the DA. And so, like Mashaba, Patricia De Lille, Lindiwe Mazibuko, and Mamphela Ramphele before me, I knew I could not stay.

I requested a special federal executive meeting which Helen agreed to convene. I first met with her in Johannesburg and warned her I would be resigning. Helen did try to encourage me to stay, but I, at that point, knew that we could no longer coexist politically. When I delivered my resignation speech in 2019, it was a sincere reflection of my belief that the DA no longer aligned with my vision for SA.

I knew the work was far from over. In fact, it had only just begun. Within two months, I had embarked on a new journey to establish the One South Africa party, dedicated to upholding the dreams and aspirations of all who sought a more united and equitable nation. It really hit home when a friend remarked, after meeting many former DA members like Mazibuko and De Lille, that we all seemed traumatised. In truth, we all were deeply traumatised. The [party’s] culture is no different to mass oppression but on a subliminal scale, and the DA are masters at this. I even heard a rumour that the City of Cape Town had been running a wiretap on my phone. Honestly, I had had enough.

The DA is in crisis. It has never been able to properly transform. Its body politic is toxic. It has no solid plans to address diversity, and its leaders are old and power-hungry. And yes, I’ll say it: the DA is a beneficiary of a racist past. As I reflect on our attempts as young Black leaders to work with the old right-wing faction of the DA, it’s less difficult to see who is actually the cause of the “failed experiment” here. And finally, as I have had the time in subsequent years to reflect, my main impetus for leaving was the following. We live in a context of multiple South Africas: the hopes of one group are the fears of others; there is a unity of purpose (think of rugby!), but there is a disunity too; and there is individualism, but also a collectivist ideology.

The easier path for politicians is to reject these contradictions and form parties solely for Blacks, or Whites, Indians or Coloureds, politics for elites or the underclass, for the religious or non-religious. But I don’t believe anyone will lead  South Africa properly until they are willing to live with the tensions and contradictions. I guess I want to continue to fight for the big dreams: that the hopes of the people of Khayelitsha may be similar to the hopes of a child in Constantia. The DA has simply opted for an easier path, which is easy for people to understand. I could not have stayed in the DA, because if I had, I would have died. The DA would have ultimately destroyed my soul.

• ‘Dare to Believe: Why I Could Not Stay in the DA’ by Mmusi Maimane is published by Bokamoso Mafrika