Holden / Vuuren The Devil In The Detail

How The Arms Deal Changed Everything
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-86842-468-9
Verlag: Jonathan Ball
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 300 Seiten

The South African 'Arms Deal' was never a single event. Rather it was, and still is, a series of scandals and outrages, all contributing towards a dubious momentum that takes South Africa further away from transparent democratic practice. The Devil in the Detail, written by two of South Africa's leading researchers on the subject, takes the reader on a journey of insight. Witness at close hand the breaking open of State secrets, with tales of outrageous personal enrichment. Explore how the Arms Deal emerged out of the criminal networks of both the old SADF and the ANC's security apparatus, raising questions as to whether South Africa's remarkable transition was not oiled, at key points, by criminal intent and collusion. Follow the trail of the various offset deals done after the Arms Deal - cumulatively worth just as much as - and discover that corruption continues to impact on defence spending in South Africa. Examine the economics and witness how the Arms Deal was not only economically irrational, but virtually suicidal, almost single-handedly derailing the post-apartheid economic project. Finally, read about the rise of the 'shadow state', the politicisation of prosecutions, and the rise of the 'spooks'. The remarkable conclusion of this landmark study is that years after the deal took place, the forces that drove its decisions have only grown in strength, further blighting South Africa's prospects for a future in which all may have a share.

Paul Holden is the author of The Arms Deal in Your Pocket (2009) and The Devil in the Detail (2011).

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holden, Paul

Vuuren, Hennie van

Leseproben

introduction
The Politics of Criminality and the Culture of Uncertainty There is little doubt that when the Acting Head of the National Prosecuting Authority, Mokotedi Mpshe, announced that corruption, fraud, and racketeering charges against Jacob Zuma were to be dropped, it constituted a defining moment in South Africa’s post-apartheid political life. Zuma’s association with the charges, stemming from the corruption trial against his financial advisor, Schabir Shaik, had been in the public domain for close to six years. His legal team, and the various political players who sought succour in the warm embrace of his potential presidency, had claimed a conspiracy hatched by political opponents – including his former exile comrade, Thabo Mbeki. Various legal applications confirmed and then subsequently refuted the claim. It was Mpshe’s announcement that finally drew a conclusive line under the matter. In justifying his decision, Mpshe quoted from ‘spy tapes’ that had been gathered as part of the National Intelligence Agency’s probe into the Browse Mole Report – a document compiled by a former Scorpions operative alleging that Zuma had received substantial financial support from various backers such as Libya’s Colonel Gaddafi, and that supporters close to Zuma were planning a coup in the case of his conviction. The ‘spy tapes’, Mpshe argued, proved that the conduct of the Scorpions in the investigation into Zuma was irredeemably tainted. It was not, by his own account, an easy decision to reach: ‘I stand before you to announce the most difficult decision I ever made in my life.’1 It was also one supported by scandalous verbatim transcripts of conversations between the former head of the NPA, Bulelani Ngcuka, and the head of the Scorpions, Leonard McCarthy, which were presented as evidence of the conspiracy. References to the ‘big man’ were made – assumed to be none other than Thabo Mbeki, also attributing to him the desire to ‘wipe the eggs of our faces’2 following Jacob Zuma’s election to the Presidency of the ANC at the less-than-cordial Polokwane Conference in December 2008. The statement made by Mpshe was, and will probably remain, lodged firmly in the South African consciousness. Jacob Zuma, after years of legal bun-fights, was no longer a ‘corrupt accused’. Instead, his tortuous ascent to the pinnacle of South African politics was assured. For his supporters, it was the final vindication, a triumphant moment redolent with schadenfreude. Those with more cynical and critical dispositions questioned the decision. By Mpshe’s own admission, the ‘substantive merits’ of the case against Zuma remained intact, and his ‘fair trial rights’ had not been infringed: in plain language, the case against Zuma remained solid, and he would receive a fair trial if it proceeded to court. Shortly thereafter, it was uncovered that Mpshe’s legal reasoning had been lifted, sometimes verbatim, from a judgment delivered by one Justice Conrad Seagroatt in the Hong Kong courts – a judgment that was subsequently overturned on appeal. Even Seagroatt, in interviews after the decision was announced, claimed that Mpshe’s use of his judgment was ‘sloppy’ and ‘undisciplined’.3 More seriously, Seagroatt also came to the conclusion that Mpshe’s decision was not actually supported by Seagroatt’s legal reasoning: Mpshe’s statement was so ‘limited and sketchy’ that he found it ‘impossible to identify why he was relying on my judgment … It is very strongly arguable that [Mpshe] should have let the trial process begin before a judge, leaving the aspect which seems to have dominated his proper role as the prosecutor (the old adage being [that] a prosecutor’s job is to prosecute) to be determined by the judge.’4 It was perhaps unsurprising, then, that the matter was subject to a legal challenge shortly after its announcement by the leading opposition party, the Democratic Alliance (DA). That it was a moment of high drama is clear, but what is less appreciated is that it was also a moment of absurdity. Viewed from the perspective of an outsider, it might have seemed ludicrous: charges against the future President, relating to an unpopular and hugely controversial Arms Deal, dismissed on the basis of spy tapes and murky underworld machinations on the part of those in charge of high-level investigations, machinations that were only uncovered as a result of an investigation into a report – the Browse Mole – that was similarly immersed in the world of backroom intrigue and hastily drawn organograms. Money and intrigue could be attached as keywords to the word-map of the event. Paranoia and anti-democratic tendencies would be more apt. It was politics as imagined by a 12-year-old boy who had illicitly snuck into a viewing of ‘The Bourne Identity’ while poring over the collected texts of John le Carré. Certainly, it was miles away from what most South Africans, if asked in 1994, would have expected of the conduct of their national political life. Acrimonious and unresolved debates about race, economic policy and crime prevention strategies, at this point, would almost seem welcome. Absurd as it may have been, it was also an indictment of the conduct of the country’s national politics. What was central to all the claims was one thing: criminality involving the resources of the State. Jacob Zuma was, until Mpshe’s announcement, a criminal accused based on allegations that he had abused his various positions of power for personal gain (and that of Schabir Shaik and his various business partners). Leonard McCarthy and Bulelani Ngcuka, if Mpshe’s reasoning was to be believed, had committed a criminal act by instituting or manipulating an investigation and prosecution for political purposes while holding offices of considerable influence and power. And what of the tapes that were leaked to Zuma’s defence team to secure the decision to drop the charges? Whichever way one cut it, the tapes would have been acquired in dubious, if not criminal, circumstances: if they were recorded by private individuals, they would have been in violation of the privacy rights of the person recorded; if they were acquired by the NIA and handed to Zuma’s legal team before they had been declassified, this, too, would have constituted a criminal offence. Of course, it all flowed from the Browse Mole Report, itself an investigation into potential criminality and conducted in a manner that was considered, if not criminal, then deeply unethical – at least by those mentioned within the report and Parliament’s Intelligence Committee. In more prosaic terms, the decision to drop the charges against Zuma was one in which claims and counter-claims of criminality dominated proceedings – criminality related to access to the State. How, exactly, had this come to pass? * * * The Arms Deal – the phrase coined to describe the decision made in 1999 to purchase various high-cost items of military equipment, and the corruption scandals that emerged in its wake – is central to our understanding of this politics of criminality. Very clearly, the events described above flowed directly from the Arms Deal, as the charges of corruption, fraud and racketeering that were instituted against Jacob Zuma were levied as a result of his role in the Arms Deal. At a more abstract level, the Arms Deal is illustrative of a pattern of behaviour and a series of attitudes to the uses and abuses of the State all of which are marked by not only undemocratic, but, at times, actively anti-democratic behaviour. Similarly, it is emblematic of the culture of uncertainty that flows from the politics of criminality. Because certain individuals involved in the Arms Deal were embedded in various State departments, and because the Executive under Thabo Mbeki frequently sought to prevent full disclosure of unsavoury facts, what happened in the Arms Deal remains opaque. The impact of the culture of uncertainty on citizenship is acute. Citizenship, if read in a broadly republican manner, requires the active engagement of individuals in political life, shaping outcomes from below and determining the future direction of a country. Central to such citizenship is access to information, for citizenship is predicated on the ability to make choices that best match the interests of the citizen and the country as a whole. With incorrect, sketchy, or incomplete information, it is impossible for choices to be made with all the relevant facts at the fingertips of the citizen, be it in the selection of political candidates for high office, or more everyday concerns such as the need or desirability of joining a service delivery strike. Without disclosure, and the accountability that flows from this, citizens suffer under a heavy burden, forever grasping for the truth in a thicket of deflective misinformation. This, perhaps, is the central outcome of Mpshe’s decision to drop charges against Jacob Zuma. The only certainty established by the decision was that Zuma would not have to answer his charges in court. Other questions, and perhaps the most vital in equipping citizens with relevant information, were carefully avoided. How accurate was the Browse Mole report? Was it entirely a fabrication, or was it a concoction of half-truths marinating in liberally generated falsehoods? Was Zuma guilty or innocent of the charges against him? Did the conversations between Ngcuka and McCarthy constitute a criminal act, and, if so, can it truly be said that the case against Zuma was a conspiracy? What should be made of the fact that the case against Zuma, by Mpshe’s own admission, remained worthy of prosecution? What, at the most basic and elementary level, did Zuma and his colleagues and acquaintances do or not...