Mistake to accuse Ramaphosa of being soft on the king
Few, if any, people who read this newspaper will have heard of a man called Saxon Kukuthulakwamadoda Dlamini, but the story of his life and death is worth telling for it explains something of why President Cyril Ramaphosa is treading so cautiously in KwaZulu-Natal.
Long ago, in another lifetime, Dlamini earned a living as a hitman. In the early 1990s, in the midst of the civil war in the KwaZulu-Natal midlands, his boss was Sifiso Nkabinde, the notorious warlord from Richmond. Just as the conflict was ending Dlamini was convicted of a double murder, which he had committed on Nkabinde’s behalf, and was sentenced to life.
Dlamini served much of his sentence in Leeukop Prison outside Johannesburg. By the time he was released on parole in 2016 he was a much-loved man among the prison’s inmates. He was famous for his charisma, his warmth and his courage; on several occasions he put his life on the line when mediating between rival gangs.
I know this because a research project led me to interview several men who served time with him.
Then something awful happened. Less than a year after his release, Dlamini was gunned down behind the counter of a tuckshop he co-owned in a township in Ekurhuleni. Nobody was arrested. Nobody ever found out why he was murdered. He had recently been through an acrimonious divorce and some suspected the family of his former wife. It was one of those countless South African killings that goes unexplained.
Dlamini’s family lives in Richmond in KwaZulu-Natal, and has done for as long as anyone can remember. Generations of his forebears are buried there. But with Dlamini’s death his family chose to break with tradition; they buried him as far from Richmond as they possibly could, for they were haunted by the prospect that the spirits of the two men he had killed in the early 1990s would not let him rest.
And so the Dlaminis shipped their son’s corpse to Jane Furse in Limpopo. His extended family, many of whom had never set foot in that province, made the journey. Even the priest who conducted the funeral was brought from KwaZulu-Natal. And when the proceedings were over the family returned home, leaving Dlamini’s corpse in a strange land, in the hope that his distance from the carnage in which he once partook would allow his spirit to rest.
For most of us, KwaZuluNatal’s civil war is at best a dim memory, but for the thousands of families who lived through its horror, it is anything but. Every death is remembered. None has been forgiven. The names and faces of those who did the killing are not forgotten.
Back in 1994, King Goodwill Zwelithini got Nelson Mandela to agree to the formation of the Ingonyama Trust. He was persuasive because he threatened that the civil war would not end. Now, Zwelithini has convinced Ramaphosa that the trust should live on. He is persuasive because his threat that violence might return is all too real. Those who have accused the president of being soft don’t understand their country as well as he does. They know not of what they speak.
There is a broader matter at stake. We had a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in this country. Bringing violent deeds to light, we hoped, would help us make our peace. But the TRC barely penetrated the surface. In a country where some 17,000 people are murdered each year, the air is thick with accusation and the past does not sleep.
Just ask the family of Saxon Kukuthulakwamadoda Dlamini.
Steinberg teaches African studies at Oxford University.