By ensuring those responsible for Collins Khosa’s death are held to account, we can prevent SA going the way of the US

Like most of the justice-loving people throughout the world, we will remember the name George Floyd for many years to come. But by the end of the lockdown, we will probably need Google to remind us who Collins Khosa was and how his life was brutally cut short at 40.

Floyd’s death at the hands of four Minneapolis police officers sparked violent protests across the US’s major cities this weekend. Derek Chauvin, the policeman who was seen on video kneeling on the 46-year-old’s neck for several minutes, has since been fired, arrested and charged with murder and manslaughter.

But the relatively quick action by the police department and prosecutors has done little to appease the angry crowds who want an end to police violence against African-American and other black minorities. The US has a long history of police killing unarmed, and often innocent, black males.

Instead of intervening in a manner that shows empathy for the grieving family and unites a divided nation, US President Donald Trump exacerbated the anger with a tweet in which he called demonstrators “thugs” and saying “when looting starts, shooting starts”. The last part was seen by protesters — some of whom took to the White House, where they had running clashes with the police on Friday — as Trump’s justification of state violence against his own citizens. Trump has since denied that his tweet was meant as a threat. But the protesters are having none of it.

The US is on fire today because it has not effectively dealt with this kind of brutality, often racially motivated, that has gone on for decades, if not longer. Which brings me to right back here at home.

State violence, especially against black youth, was a common feature of the apartheid state. As the resistance movement against the system became stronger in the 1970s and 1980s, so did state violence. The advent of democracy in 1994 was supposed to mark the end of that violent chapter in our country. The new constitution and the laws that were subsequently passed guaranteed as much. But unfortunately we have continued to have instances where police officers and other arms of the state use excessive force, especially against individuals from low-income groups.

Marikana was the most brutal and bloody of these incidents, but there are many other cases where individuals were shot and killed by the police merely for protesting. Andries Tatane, the Free State activist who was shot dead by police during a service delivery protest in Ficksburg, comes to mind.

The lockdown has been a reminder of how easily our security forces — despite the “best constitution in the world” — can fall back into the ways of the old apartheid state. The violent conduct of both the police and soldiers who are deployed in our townships and informal settlements to enforce the lockdown has sometimes left one wondering whether, with all the 26 years of “transformation”, the state apparatus has changed at all.

The government would have us believe that these are isolated incidents and that the vast majority of police and army officers out there do not abuse their power and authority. This may very well be the case, but, as they say, a rotten apple spoils the barrel.

So unless the government takes firm action against guilty parties every time such incidents occur, in a few years’ time we may find ourselves with a citizenry that has lost all hope in the justice system and those appointed to enforce it.

The death of Khosa at the hands of SANDF soldiers who were patrolling Alexandra township at the start of the lockdown in March was shocking and infuriating. But nothing could have prepared us for the callous manner in which the army has since handled the case. Despite assurances from the defence minister that the government was serious about probing the matter and ensuring that those responsible are punished, the SANDF seems to be only concerned with protecting its own image. And not justice.

This week it emerged that a board of inquiry appointed by the army to probe the matter found the soldiers and Johannesburg Metro Police Department officers accused of killing Khosa could not be held liable for his death. It went on to blame “the incident” on “gender inequality and provocation, specifically lack of respect towards female soldiers by two men”. In other words, while denying that the soldiers killed Khosa, the board accused the deceased and a male relative he was with when they came to his home of “provoking” the officers.

According to an affidavit by Khosa’s life partner, Nomsa Montsha, who was present when the altercation occurred, the deceased was taken from his home by soldiers who accused him and others of violating lockdown regulations. They slammed him against a cement wall, poured beer over his head, kicked, slapped and punched him. A few hours later, he was dead.

Without interviewing Khosa’s family, the board of inquiry decided to clear the soldiers of wrongdoing. We are fortunate that this injustice has not resulted in the kind of anger and protest we have seen in the US. It means that South Africans still have trust in our justice system. But that trust should not be abused by the state. Where a law enforcement officer or a soldier has abused power, stern action must be taken.

And for us citizens, vigilance is key. Even without taking to the streets, we can prevent our country from going the way of the US by keeping a close eye on this case and ensuring that those responsible are ultimately held accountable for Khosa’s death.