Woe betide our poor republic if this is how a real cartel operates

Ah, Chief Dwasaho! I come to a sad conclusion, my leader: the khawtry no longer needs this correspondence. Week in, week out, the republic writes the letter itself, in perfect scandal, while I merely arrive afterwards with punctuation, isiZulu seasoning and a mild headache.

The Republic of the Gupta spent another week proving that the only thing more dangerous than organised crime is disorganised governance pretending to investigate it. We are told there is a Big Five cartel roaming the land like a criminal version of the Kruger National Park. Not lion, leopard, ­rhino, buffalo and elephant, no. This one allegedly comes with tenders, ­generals, girlfriends, blue lights and WhatsApp messages.

But, my leader, I am struggling. Have you ever heard of a cartel member entering a plea deal and agreeing to testify for the State? Yet here was Vusimuzi “Cat” Matlala, reportedly ready to sing in the tendering ­trial – though he did come to his senses this week and pulled out of the plea deal.

But what kind of cartel is this, my leader? One with open microphones, CCTV cameras and plea agreements? In real life, cartel members bite bullets, swallow SIM cards and die with secrets. Not here.

Not to mention Cat’s other pending trial, in which he faces allegations linked to 11 failed attempts at eliminating rivals. Eleven, my leader. Eleven! At that point, it is no longer attempted murder. It is a performance review.

Fail once, blame the get­away car’s empty tank. Fail twice, blame Vodacom. Fail three times, blame the GPS. But 11 times? Hhayibo! That is not the Medellín Cartel. That is a WhatsApp stokvel with firearms.

Comedic timing

Then, as if the ancestors wanted satire to take dictation, Major General Feroz Khan was shot before appearing before the Ma­dlanga Commission. A suspended senior Crime Intelligence officer, reportedly due to testify about the underworld that had climbed into the State’s bed, was shot in Joburg. Suddenly, the comedy grows teeth.

What kind of state secret keeper is not protected by armed men, yes-men with automatic rifles, hand grenades and Profit Bushiri prayers? What kind of intelligence architecture leaves its witnesses looking like ordinary citizens waiting for an Uber ride outside danger?

My leader, I do not joke about bullets. ­Bullets are the punctuation marks of a failed state. But even here the question remains: is this the discipline of a cartel or the panic of people trapped in their own paperwork?

What we are watching is noisy, needy, over-lawyered and forever appearing before commissions, a low-level gang with memory loss. A cartel? Or greedy men with guns, cocaine and government contacts?

Then comes the SAPS woman, the alleged fired lover, and the township butcher economy of influence. Brigadier Rachel Matjeng claimed to have been in a relationship with Cat, an underworld figure, and has since been dismissed from the SAPS. Not suspended pending another endless process. Not redeployed to strategic projects. Fired.

No Ozempic could protect her. No blue light could rescue her. No “I was acting on instruction” hymn could move the choir.

According to his original plea deal, Cat admitted bribing her with R300,000 via Osizweni Meat Hyper. A Thembisa township butchery? Not cryptocurrency. Not the dark web. Not offshore accounts in Panama or Dubai. A butchery. Amawors, inyama yenhloko (head meat) and national security in one invoice.

My leader, this is neither cartel behaviour nor organised crime. This is an organised national embarrassment. When a country’s crime intelligence crisis starts sounding like an episode of The Real Housewives of Pretoria North, we must ask whether the republic itself has become the crime scene.

Cadre redeployment

And just when I thought the script had exhausted its appetite for insult, you, my leader, returned Dina Pule to the Cabinet as minister of social development.

Dina Pule! The former minister of communications, once dismissed from the Cabinet after the scandal of boyfriend-linked preferential treatment, returns under the holy incense of renewal. No red-soled shoes in sight. No boyfriend doing procurement yoga in the background. Just a solemn face, a new portfolio and the old ANC miracle: resurrection without confession.

Perhaps, my leader, Pule is the original cartel member. Not cartel as in drugs, guns and assassins. She is not stupid. Cartel as in political survival. Cartel, as in the protected species of the political establishment. Fall today, return tomorrow. Ethics failure yesterday, appointment letter today. Public memory is short, cadre deployment is long, and remorse is optional if the factional weather changes.

This, my leader, is the real Big Five. Not Cat Matlala, KT Molefe, Brown ­Mogotsi, this general, that sergeant, this girlfriend, that tenderpreneur. The true Big Five are impunity, amnesia, cadre recycling, procurement hunger and political protection.

These five do not hide in safe houses. They sit on panels. They sign minutes. They chair subcommittees. They issue statements welcoming due process while quietly strangling consequences behind the curtain.

That is why I reject this neat Big Five cartel story. It is too convenient, too cinematic, too emotionally satisfying. It gives us villains with names while the system itself escapes cross-examination. We are told to look at five men while the entire republic’s moral architecture collapses like a tender-­built bridge after the first rain.

A cartel has discipline. This thing has vibes. A cartel protects its secrets. This one leaks like a Johannesburg Water municipal pipe. A cartel removes rivals. This one allegedly needs 11 attempts. A cartel keeps members loyal. This one produces potential State witnesses. A cartel hides. This one arrives on television, overdressed, over-lawyered and underprepared.

So no, Comrade Leadership, we do not have a Big Five cartel. We have a captured ecosystem: police politics, tender capitalism, party protection, bedroom diplomacy, commission theatre and Cabinet recycling, all wearing one oversized trench coat and calling itself national security.

For the record, this letter was not written with assistance from named companies, documented or undocumented foreigners, politically connected lovers, or cartel members possibly negotiating plea deals.

Till next week, my man. Send me to the Kruger National Park to chat with the real Big Five. DM

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