Parliamentary questioning of Kwazulu-Natal Attorney- General Tim McNally started off looking like a wild west duel, but ended in a stand-off, writes David
It was 12 midday exactly — “high noon” in gunfighter parlance — when Tim McNally took his seat in Room 153 at the Union Buildings on Wednesday. A slight, grey- haired figure sporting a little pot belly and half- frame glasses perched on the end of his nose, South Africa’s senior attorney-general looked more like a headmaster than a gunslinger.
But there was an air of grim determination about him as he gazed, thin-lipped, down the room at the man who was to be his chief tormentor: the curly-haired and bubbly figure of Johnny de Lange, chairman of Parliament’s Justice Portfolio Committee.
McNally’s voice was slightly reedy, but he gathered confidence as he launched into his opening gambit: a recitation of the efforts he had made in the cause of affirmative action. He read proudly from a 1993 memorandum he had submitted (without success) to the then Minister of Justice, Kobie Coetzee, proposing a training scheme to bring “persons of colour” into the prosecutorial system.
His non-racial credentials established, he moved on to his workload. “At times we receive post from overseas to the extent of 1 000 letters a day,” he said with meaningful emphasis. “Our post bag groans from the dockets and the letters that come also from South African sources. I, as attorney-general, do not get to see anything like all that documentation …” It was to be a theme: I did not see it, but “I accept responsibility for everything that goes on in my office”. The battle-ground prepared, he sat back: “I now invite you to engage me in discourse.”
The attack was slow in coming. An invitation to sketch the situation in KwaZulu-Natal had him groping for the emotion adequate to his indignation: “People are mourning; people are dying; blood is being spilt and, uhhh, people are mourning and people are digging graves for their dear ones.”
The timorous-looking Douglas Gibson grasped the nettle with that air of frank naivete that is a badge of the Democratic Party. Was he aware of the negative perception in some quarters with regard to his record in political prosecutions? The AG waxed indignant. “The general perception that I do not prosecute hit squads is absolutely wrong,” he declared.
The National Party’s Jaco Maree tried some politicking. Which parties were behind the violence? “This is a delicate question which I will answer as delicately as possible,” said the AG with the gravity and deliberation to be expected of a high-ranking judicial officer. “The IFP and the ANC.”
The opening was too tempting for the ANC’s De Lange. The AG had failed to mention the police and paramilitary forces, he challenged. McNally hastily changed tack — he had not been asked about the police, “but the police are indeed involved in the violence”.
It was mid afternoon before the first tilt in the scales of justice was recorded, by another ANC MP, Llewelyn Landers, with the case of one Thomas Majola. He sketched it briefly.
A man arrested for theft was questioned at a dam by six policemen. “According to the policemen he asked for the opportunity to have a bath in the dam. And according to the policemen while having this bath he drowned.” According to the state pathologist Majola did not drown, but died by asphyxiation. The pathologist also found injuries consistent with the administration of electric shocks. Pieces of electric cable and inner- tubing were discovered at the site. “It is said that you, Mr McNally, declined to prosecute these policemen.”
“This was one of these cases which I did not deal with personally,” said the AG, flicking through his papers to discover his brief. “But it does appear to me that the decision was a correct one.” The inquest had found — on a “balance of probabilities” — that there had been “possible negligence” on the part of police. The judicial mind having already reached that conclusion, there was little chance of going to trial, where the test was “beyond all reasonable doubt”.
Thomas Majola’s bath seemed to open the floodgates, the ANC smelling blood. There were 5 006 complaints against police in his jurisdiction last year, yet only 10 to 20 percent were prosecuted. Why did he ignore the advice of Judge Goldstone to use three hitmen as state witnesses against top-level Inkatha functionaries? Why did he dismiss Carl Koenig, his state advocate, when he was making progress in hit-squad investigations? Why did he plea-bargain with Thor Chemicals?
As the charges were hurled, squabbling broke out among the parliamentarians. It was turning into a witch-hunt, complained Maree, his voice rising in fury. “This thing is getting out of hand,” protested Gibson. Witnesses should not be “badgered and hectored and shouted at.”
But through it all, the AG kept his equanimity. The police figure was familiar to other jurisdictions. Goldstone did not have all the facts at his disposal. There had been a leak and anyway he had apologised to Koenig. He had reprimanded a junior for the deal with Thor and, besides, they were lucky to get a conviction at all.
As dusk fell outside Room 153, the minority parties were fleeing the battlefield, leaving the ANC and the AG slugging it out. By 6.30 pm there was an air of exhaustion.
All AGs followed the same standards, pleaded McNally.
De Lange lifted his head and growled: “McNally, we haven’t had the complaints that we’ve had with you.”
“Yes … yes,” murmured the AG, with an evenness born of a lifetime of courtroom exchanges. “I’m in a rather difficult province; maybe you will bear that in mind as well. I walk a certain tightrope in my province. And I walk it to the best of my ability.”
It was a stand-off at OK Corral.