Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu: SA justice is mostly just a sideshow

Ah, Chief Dwasaho! South Africans are gullible. There was so much song and dance when the low-hanging fruit, ANC cadre Vincent Smith, was convicted of fraud and corruption and allegedly sent to jail for seven years.

Recently, headlines screamed that Sergeant Fannie Nkosi of the (Dis)Organised Crime Unit of the South African Police Service was allegedly arrested for serious crimes. One day in this country, we will celebrate when the sun rises, and later when the moon visits us at night. The pattern is not accidental, my leader. It is choreography.

We celebrate the arrest of a runner ­(Nkosi). At the same time, the real race is run elsewhere, in Sandhurst, Camps Bay and Tzaneen, by men in Gucci suits in networks so entangled you cannot tell where the political establishment ends and the cartel begins. From taxis and tenders to security contracts and municipal budgets, it is one long relay, and the baton never drops. Yet here we are, clapping.

Nkosi sits in a cell after police searched his home and found cash, firearms, ammunition and six case dockets linked to serious crimes, including unsolved cash-in-transit heists. The image is irresistible: dockets, weapons and ammunition scattered like loose change. It is cinematic, my leader, almost too perfect, all found in the safe hands of Nkosi, King of Errands. What a G.

But the numbers do not cooperate. Was it R50,000 under a mattress, or about R385,000 from an earlier raid? The numbers shift with the search and seizure, but the outrage remains neatly packaged – ­contained, digestible and ready for public consumption. And so we are told: here is the criminal. But let us widen the lens.

The Tshwane Metropolitan Police Department cannot explain R2.9-billion in dubious security contracts, according to evidence before the Madlanga Commission into police capture and interference. Not R50,000. Not R350,000. R2.9-billion.

Silence follows. Committees are formed. Minnows are suspended on full pay. Forensic reports are commissioned. Language becomes careful, padded, almost respectful of the missing money.

At Tembisa Hospital, my leader, about R2-billion moves through procurement corridors, touching contracts, lives, and death itself. It is a scandal so large it no longer shocks. It exhausts.

Performative justice

And so the question forces itself forward: is this justice, or is it distraction? Because Nkosi is not innocent, let us be clear. A police officer found with dockets he should not have, with weapons improperly stored and with links to serious cases is a problem. But is he the problem? Or is he the convenient face of the problem?

By his own account, he is a middleman. A man who sits between crime bosses and senior police officers, passing messages, moving files, smoothing edges. A runner in a much longer race. We arrest the runner, my leader, and leave the race intact.

This is how appeasement works. Give the public a body. A name. A photograph in handcuffs. Let them feel the state is working. Meanwhile, the system that produces Nkosi remains untouched, well fed and elegantly dressed.

R50,000 makes headlines. R2.9-billion becomes a process. R2-billion becomes a report. And the country is told: justice is being done. No, my leader. Justice is being performed.

Now let us return to the earlier celebration, the conviction of Vincent Smith. Why has nobody taken out a calculator? We are told Smith benefited from Bosasa to the tune of about R800,000. That is the polite number.

But the very own papers of the National Prosecuting Authority’s erstwhile Investigating Directorate, now the Investigating Directorate Against Corruption, stretch the flows to roughly R19-million. Add the tax exposure, and the figure rises to about R28-million.

Recovery? What recovery?

Then comes the performance of recovery. We hear of R46-million “frozen”. It sounds muscular. It sounds decisive. But freezing is not forfeiture. A restraint order is a pause, not a conclusion. What has actually been taken is closer to R1.5-million, with the rest subject to continuing legal processes and confiscation proceedings.

Let us count, my leader. R28-million in exposure. R1.5-million recovered. That leaves R26.5-million enjoying the patience of the law.

Now let us perform a small experiment. Assume, for a moment, that the R28-million was a payment in advance. A contract. Services rendered to the invisible network that binds politics and commerce. Seven years is the sentence. But we know seven years is not seven years. Let us be ­generous and say three and a half. That is about 1,278 days.

Divide R28-million by 1,278 days. You arrive at roughly R21,900 a day. Every day, my leader. Even if one insists on the smaller figure of R19-million, the daily rate remains above R14,800.

Now compare that with the Social Relief of Distress grant, R370 a month – about R12 a day. One day in orange overalls equals almost five years of survival for a citizen at the margins. And we are told this is punishment.

Old movie, new cast

We have seen this film before. Schabir Shaik exited on medical parole, too ill for prison, well enough for life thereafter. Jackie Selebi served a portion of his sentence before illness, and the system intervened. Jacob Zuma walked in and out of incarceration through legal creativity that would impress even the most imaginative scriptwriter.

We do not punish. We rehearse. Announce the arrest. Celebrate the conviction. Applaud the sentence. Then, slowly and carefully, reduce the time, soften the edges and allow life to resume with only minor adjustments.

Meanwhile, the numbers remain stubborn. R28-million remains R28-million. R1.5-million remains R1.5-million. R21,900 a day remains R21,900 a day.

The calculator, my leader, refuses to join the celebration. It does not sing. It does not dance. It does not applaud. It simply counts. And in counting, it exposes the quiet irony of our justice: one can serve time and still come out ahead.

Comrade Leadership, I hear the Phala Phala ghost is back to haunt you. South ­Africa, wait for Choreography 2.0.

Till next week, my man. Keep the calculator close. DM

This story first appeared in our weekly DM168 newspaper, available countrywide for R35.