When President Cyril Ramaphosa sat before the Zondo commission to give his version of the state capture years, he was asked a quite difficult question.
The question sought to forensically probe his unrighteous silence on the allegations of state capture – back when he was deputy president to Jacob Zuma, both in the ANC and the country’s executive.
Not only was Ramaphosa the second most powerful man in the land politically, he was also present when the infamous Gupta family put its dirty claws on the fetters of the state.
“Did you know the Guptas had captured the state?” the lead investigator of the commission asked Ramaphosa.
The answer is something some of us will forever grapple with.
First – legally speaking – it is a crime to know about a crime and not report it to the police. For this reason, Ramaphosa had to be careful when answering. “We were blindsided,” he said.
This meant he and his ANC comrades knew nothing about the Gupta rot. They only thought these were the president’s men.
They never witnessed any corrupt activities between the mafia family and the head of state.
But whistleblowers like Themba Maseko, the former head of the Government Communication and Information System, told a different story.
Maseko testified that he was directly instructed to assist the Guptas with government advertising, and when he refused, he was removed from his post. He wasn’t blindsided. He was bulldozed.
What happened years later has made it difficult for me to lift my jaw from the floor. Once again, Ramaphosa found himself presented with another opportunity to report a crime to the police. And that he did not at a police station, but to his bodyguard.
Our president knew thieves had stolen millions from his home, but did not report it to the police as prescribed by law.
Not long ago, whistleblower Babita Deokoran’s fate was sealed with a hail of bullets for knowing what she should not have known. Her crime? Blowing the whistle.
Her death became an addition to whistleblowers who lost their lives in trying to align with moral consciousness and the very letter of the law that demands witnesses report crime whenever they become aware of it.
But a deputy president did not do that when he witnessed the Guptas looting the state. He was blindsided, he said.
Fellow South Africans, for now, please forget about dialling 0800 204 307. This is the number people are encouraged to call to report corruption. My advice: Don’t call that number. At least not yet. Why?
As you saw for yourself. This week, Lt-Gen Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi blew the whistle, alleging assassins who must be arrested for their crimes are working in cahoots with top guns within the SAPS.
That means those most likely to unfortunately dial that 0800 204 307 number must sleep with one eye open. Why?
Why wouldn’t assassins kill whistleblowers when those they blow the whistle on have direct lines with the very assassins or those who order killings?
What Mkhwanazi did this past week could only be done by Mkhwanazi. He is a rifleman trained with the best of the best, drawing even admiration from the French army, if we are to believe Bheki Cele.
He’s a man you don’t want to mess with, if we are to believe KZN taxi bosses who toe the line when he speaks war. He is our Chuck Norris.
Back to you and me, if your president could not blow the whistle because he was scared – blindsided – what Mkhwanazi told us should make people hold their horses until the rot is cleaned up.
Political pundits love warning about SA becoming a banana republic. Forget about what our country could become.
Face what our country is: a dangerous place to live in. A place where you cannot tell a gangster apart from a law enforcement officer.
So, fellow South Africans, until you have elected leaders who are more concerned about your well-being than their networks, do not dial that number.
If your president could not report theft at his farm, what are you not scared to lose – when electricity prices have already left you with nothing?
• Mogakane is Mpumalanga correspondent
