A suspect president and his questionable lieutenants

THE continuing Nkandla scandal has raised pertinent questions this past week — ones that are not likely to be answered for as long as the public protector’s report remains stuck in legal processes and challenges by government departments. The considerable haste and vigour with which the security cluster ministers — police, state security and defence — along with the Department of Public Works sought to legally impede the progress of the report must raise concerns about the real reasons for their actions.

Ostensibly, the ministers were concerned about the safety and security of President Jacob Zuma at his rural home in KwaZulu-Natal, but there seems to be much ado about nothing.

Public protector Thuli Madonsela put paid to the concerns about publicising the security details of Nkandla in her responding affidavit this week. In it, she insisted that her office had been painstakingly careful not to expose Zuma to possible dangers in the drafting of the report. What then could possibly have compelled the four ministers to act with such haste and aggression?

The answer revolves, ultimately, around the history of this particular president and the shadows of impropriety that trail behind him.

For, when we deal with this president, we cannot help but look at him in his totality and suspect that there might very well be something in the building of Nkandla that could compromise him. This suspicion stems from Zuma’s disgraceful past conduct in office, starting with his financial dependence on convicted fraudster Schabir Shaik, which led to his dismissal from office.

This was followed by the again extraordinary lengths to which Zuma and his legal team went in squashing the state’s case against him after being indicted on charges of racketeering, money-laundering, fraud and corruption in December 2007. Since then, Zuma has — including having the charges dropped in 2009 after suggestions of outside interference — tried every means necessary to delay a decision on whether to recharge him.

Although he was acquitted on rape charges in 2006, Zuma’s utterances during the trial showed him to have little regard for his own sexual safety and a chauvinistic approach to women. This cavalier sexual approach might still be excusable in an ordinary citizen, but startlingly offensive in a man who led South Africa’s moral regeneration campaign.

Since becoming president in 2009, Zuma’s term in office has been characterised by questionable appointments and great procrastination when having to make decisions about senior government officials guilty of wrongdoing. And so it seems that, with this president, things must be hidden, dragged out, postponed and hobbled for as long as possible.

In the context of a vacillating leader whose moral purpose has been found wanting on several occasions, is it surprising that the lieutenants he has appointed will dovetail their behaviour to suit his own? How else can we begin to understand the dogged insistence of Nathi Mthethwa, Thulas Nxesi and Siyabonga Cwele to suffocate the Nkandla report in a camouflage of security concerns?

When a government colludes — as in this case — to hide the truth from its citizens, it seems a good time to start worrying about those charged with making decisions on our behalf.

The vilification of Madonsela leaves a bitter taste. To accuse her of arrogance and impertinence is a base character assassination. She has acted correctly, as evidenced in her responding court papers. She went about investigating the procurement processes and the companies associated with the upgrade of Zuma’s home.

Although we do not know the outcome of her Nkandla report, she has emerged as the one person in whom this country can trust in this sorry saga.