It’s often stated — obviously to spare the feelings of relatives and friends — that we should not speak ill of the dead. The upshot is we often sing the praises of people with unsavoury or loathsome records or characters as we lower their caskets to internal rest. The wrongs they have done are thereby interred with their bodies. Thus a lie is told, and perpetuated, including by men of the cloth who preside over such burials.
But we need to tell the truth — no matter how uncomfortable — about those who depart, so that we may not repeat their wrongdoings and can learn from the mistakes they made. To do otherwise is merely the height of dishonesty.
Former deputy president David Mabuza died this week; he was 64. His tenure was often marked by absences due to an unspecified illness and unexplained trips to Russia. Though he spent most of his adulthood in the glare of public office, nobody — not even his close associates, it would appear — knew for sure what the disease was that ultimately claimed his life.
It is perhaps the nature of the strange animal that the ANC has become that such a mercurial figure as Mabuza could have wiggled his way into high office. His comrades this week were effusive in their praise of his public role — sentiments that no doubt will be repeated in tributes and memorial services across the country. That is to be expected, because for them to say otherwise — to tell the truth about a fellow comrade — would be to point an accusing finger at themselves.
We should obviously be distressed by the passing of a life, especially at such a young age. But we should not shy away from telling inconvenient truths, warts and all. For, silence is not just consent; we become complicit in the wrongs we’re shielding. A society that’s comfortable in prattling blatant untruths about itself, or prominent individuals, or refuses to confront its demons, tends to reap the whirlwind. And we’ve had a fair share of those — crime, corruption, cronyism, assassinations, the lot.
And Mabuza was in the thick of it. He played no small part. It was his Machiavellian exploits that saw him climb from a godforsaken part of the country to the top of the tree.
Phola, in Mpumalanga, where Mabuza was born, is one of the apartheid-created rural settlements between White River and Hazyview that the revolution seems to have passed by. Places such as Swalala, Mahushu, Mganduzweni, Shabalala and many others. They are rarely on anybody’s lips — the names don’t roll easily off the tongue — except when bad things happen. Nothing has been done in 30 years to dent the poverty of the place, or change the material condition of the people in any substantial way.
The people of Phola must have been thrilled that one of their own — offspring of their meagre circumstances — was proudly prowling the corridors of power at the Union Buildings. But they have nothing to show for it. One wonders whether they even saw him, except when he showed up to campaign or cement his political credentials. He moved to his sprawling farm outside Barberton. Admittedly, he wasn’t alone in — having made it in life — leaving a backwater for a more congenial environment.
But Mabuza could at least have used the power of his office to better the conditions of his village — and many such places. It was, after all, his job to do that. Instead, like many of our politicians, he feathered his own nest. He had absolute sway in Mpumalanga after he became deputy president. His successors have since found it difficult to stamp their authority.
Unlike Zuma, Mabuza never posed any problem to his boss. He was happy staying away from the limelight. He seemed disinterested in the job, almost absent-minded, and was away a lot of time; he probably missed the real power he wielded in Mpumalanga
Apart from the corruption, Mabuza has left another legacy. He bequeathed Cyril Ramaphosa to us. Were it not for Mabuza, Ramaphosa would have gone back to making his millions in business. And we’d probably either be better off, or — at least — meaningfully confronting our problems.
A former adviser to Thabo Mbeki, Vusi Mavimbela — in his excellent memoir, Time is not the Measure — tells of an interesting episode that happened after Mbeki became leader of the ANC. His close aides convened a meeting to decide on possible candidates for the country’s deputy president. There were doubts at the time about the suitability of Jacob Zuma for the job, but he could not be left out of the meeting.
After initial remarks, Joe Nhlanhla called for suggestions. There was dead silence. Zuma laughed. “Some looked down as if they had just discovered something strange in the patterns of their shoes,” Mavimbela writes. The meeting flopped. But to Zuma, at least, it seemed to have confirmed the validity of his grievance — of being regarded as an illiterate rural simpleton — that he nursed throughout his presidency.
Mbeki rescued Zuma from the obscurity of KwaZulu-Natal politics. Mabuza needed no such patronage. In fact, he had the privilege of anointing the king. He chaperoned Ramaphosa to power. His duplicity at the ANC Nasrec conference in 2017 — changing the allegiance of his province from Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma — ensured Ramaphosa’s victory. The country heaved a sigh of relief. We dodged a bullet, we thought. The messiah had landed. But Mabuza seemed an unlikely scoundrel to be grateful to; it felt like saying thank you to a thief.
But unlike Zuma, Mabuza never posed any problem to his boss. He was happy staying away from the limelight. He seemed disinterested in the job, almost absent-minded, and was away a lot of time; he probably missed the real power he wielded in Mpumalanga. A deputy president has no real job. They're a dogsbody, always waiting for the president to throw them some crumbs — cutting ribbons or attending the odd funeral. A cabinet minister has more power, and influences lives and events. The job’s only saving grace is proximity to the president — though this can be a poisoned chalice — and being in pole position to take over should the president be incapacitated or die.
Mabuza probably knew he stood no chance of succeeding Ramaphosa. He had made too many enemies on his way to the top. Even the Ramaphosa crowd were weary of him. The only option was to retire to his farm. They’ll give him a ringing send-off — knowing some of what they say isn’t true.
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