Muzi Sikhakhane’s Odyssey of Liberation stands out as a memoir that transcends the genre’s typical boundaries. Self-aware and reflective, it avoids the pitfalls of rigid talking points and instead offers a vivid, granular and compelling account of his life.
This voluminous yet surprisingly accessible book is a timely and significant contribution to the discourse on contemporary SA politics. Sikhakhane masterfully intertwines his personal experiences with broader observations, creating a narrative that is as intellectually rich as it is emotionally engaging.
The memoir is a lucid and deeply personal narrative that captures the essence of growing up in the Midlands, in the village of Bawlor, KwaZulu-Natal. With detail, Sikhakhane recounts his childhood, shaped by poverty and the care of his mother, a domestic worker, as she raised him and his siblings.
The emotional resonance of these struggles immediately connects readers to the author, drawing them into his journey.
One of the book’s most gripping sections details the turbulence of Sikhakhane’s life as a teacher during the war between the IFP and ANC in KZN.
These harrowing accounts of bloodshed and personal danger are deeply affecting, culminating in a chilling episode where Sikhakhane was forced to flee after an attempt on his life.
The raw and vivid details of this traumatic period reveal the indelible impact it has had on him, offering readers an understanding of how history shaped him and his worldview.
The Guardian once observed, “A political autobiography generally has one eye on the reader and the other on posterity – an endeavour, in equal parts explanatory and justificatory, that seeks to set the record straight and secure a favourable place in history.”
This sentiment feels particularly relevant in Odyssey of Liberation.
Sikhakhane presents himself as a figure shaped by vilification, a theme that runs deeply through his youth and professional life. The storytelling at times leans heavily into portraying him as a victim.
He offers sharp critiques of the legal profession, particularly his observations about black lawyers. He argues that some lack “intellectual depth” and appear more drawn to money and lifestyle than to the pursuit of justice. He also subtly suggests that certain judges have displayed favouritism toward particular political figures, raising questions about impartiality and errors in judgment.
While these claims are provocative, they are also troubling in their lack of nuance. Sikhakhane’s critique seems to overlook the complex realities faced by many black lawyers. Operating within a neoliberal order, these lawyers often navigate a world of contradictions in their professional life.
He firmly rejects SA’s “negotiated settlement” but his critique lacks a fully developed thesis, whether grounded in political science or law, to substantiate his disapproval.
While it is valid to challenge this period, a meaningful critique benefits from providing an antithesis that interrogates the system in depth.
For instance, while many remain critical of the compromises made during the transitional period, it is essential to contextualise these within the broader historical brutality of apartheid. A lawyer, for example, cannot ignore the profound milestone achieved in 1995 when the Constitutional Court abolished the death penalty, a punishment that disproportionately targeted black South Africans.
While Sikhakhane’s critiques are bold, they rely heavily on his personal experience rather than substantive evidence.
One of the most contentious moments in his career, which he addresses at length, is his role in the state capture commission. Sikhakhane disputes the widely held belief that he “walked out” of the proceedings, calling it a propaganda campaign to tarnish his reputation.
He clarifies that he had no instructions to continue representing former president Jacob Zuma at the time and needed to fly to Durban, yet this explanation raises more questions than it resolves.
Sikhakhane’s departure after arguing for the recusal of the chairperson left the impression of unfinished business, especially as the subpoena was neither challenged nor stayed in court.
Sikhakhane also revisits Zuma’s imprisonment by the Constitutional Court for contempt of court, which he describes as a grave injustice and an example of judicial bias. He argues that imprisoning a person without their free trial rights was unprecedented and fundamentally wrong.
While this perspective may resonate with critics of the judiciary, Sikhakhane’s framing of these cases often comes across as one-sided, lacking the legal rigour to address counterarguments.
This section of the memoir highlights Sikhakhane’s frustrations with the legal system and its treatment of politically sensitive cases. However, his analysis might leave readers questioning whether these critiques are fully substantiated or shaped by personal grievances.
