Schabir Shaik’s supporters have long claimed that the case against him is political. In particular, they argue that it is driven by a desire to tarnish the reputation of Deputy President Jacob Zuma, to disqualify him from the race for the presidency.
Those who have claimed this — in more or less veiled form — include African National Congress secretary general Kgalema Motlanthe; the Congress of South African Trade Unions; Zuma himself; the ANC Youth League and its benefactor, mining maverick Brett Kebble; spin doctors associated with the Shaik camp, including family members; and Shaik himself.
Few of them, however, have been willing to go public about the shadowy figure they believe to be behind this alleged vendetta.
When the Shaik trial recessed on December 7, Shaik delivered another in a series of veiled references to this issue. Commenting on the immense resources expended by the state in investigating him, Shaik told reporters: ”I’m not surprised; I understand the bigger picture.” Pressed on the ”bigger picture”, he said: ”It’s sub judice … it’s the battle of the titans.”
But privately, outside the trial, Zuma and Shaik’s supporters are less coy about pointing fingers beyond visible suspects like (former prosecutions chief) Bulelani Ngcuka and (former justice minister) Penuell Maduna. They implicate President Thabo Mbeki.
There is only circumstantial evidence to support this thesis, but it holds wide currency in the elite.
The defence of Zuma offered by his supporters is, firstly, that his financial indiscretions are relatively minor and almost no Cabinet minister would survive with their reputation intact under similar scrutiny; and secondly, that at least he has not abused the machinery of state to fight his political battles.
Mac Maharaj was fond of voicing the concern that Ngcuka was becoming a South African J Edgar Hoover, the infamous FBI director considered the power behind the throne of several United States presidents.
How do these perceptions measure up against reality?
Arguably, there are enough markers to suggest the battle between the Mbeki camp and the anti-Mbeki camp (which is currently backing Zuma) is one of the most under-reported political stories of the past five years — and will be the crucial political story in the run-up to the ANC’s national conference in 2007.
It is not a new battle — it dates back to at least 1999, and probably has its origins in ANC factions and rivalries before 1990. These have been surprisingly consistent, though political and economic expediency has blurred the contours from time to time.
On the one hand there has been Mbeki and, clustered around him, the modern Africanists — the black capitalists and technocrats inspired by his vision of an African ”tiger” state, liberated from its racial legacy by a resurgent black middle class.
On the other, there is a coalition of those alienated by the Mbeki project: the broad left, desperate to regain influence over government policy; Charterists offended by the racialised nature of his programme and the stifling of dissent; and power networks — especially in the ANC’s military and intelligence hierarchy — that have always backed another horse.
For this grouping, Zuma has come to represent the only bankable alternative to an Mbeki appointee.
The current debate about a third term for Mbeki as ANC president is seen as another way of frustrating Zuma’s presidential ambitions. In ANC tradition, the party’s deputy president succeeds to the presidency.
Claims of high ideals on both sides sound hollow — the factions have behaved more like Mafias jostling for the spoils of power. Perhaps nowhere was this more obvious than around the arms deal.
Arm dealers dangle the possibility of spending very large sums in an established milieu of secret ”commissions” where even a modest rake-off can fatten patronage networks and create a political war chest.
This allegation was central to the infamous September 1999 ”De Lille dossier”, which first alleged corruption and manipulation in relation to the arms procurement. The document concluded: ”It also appears that these companies, groups and individuals are using the arms deal to create and finance an economic and political centre within the ANC to undermine Mbeki.”
One figure within the Shaik grouping privately agrees that this allegation contains some truth.
The document, supposedly authored by ”concerned ANC MPs” and publicised by then Pan Africanist Congress MP Patricia de Lille, was more interesting for the reaction it provoked than for its contents.
The corruption claims were so lacking in supporting evidence that most of the media, and the Democratic Alliance, let them pass almost unnoticed. It was the ferocious reaction of the government that suggested there might be more than met the eye.
Zuma did not feature prominently in the allegations. But by November 2000 he had become the focus of resistance to Mbeki’s leadership, which had stumbled into crisis, mainly over HIV/Aids.
By then also, the auditor general had conducted a preliminary review of the arms deal which had identified a number of areas of serious concern — and the parliamentary Standing Committee on Public Accounts (Scopa) had recommended a further multi-agency probe that threatened to destabilise Mbeki’s government.
The state case against Shaik alleges Zuma reached a bribe agreement with French contractor Thomson in March 2000 in return for offering protection from the investigation. However, until November that year, he quietly supported Andrew Feinstein, who was leading the ANC component of Scopa in its bid to probe the deal.
According to a witness statement seen by the Mail & Guardian, Feinstein now believes Zuma ”initially felt that the issue could prove the undoing of the President [who was facing significant criticism within the ANC and the country at large], which would benefit the Deputy President’s ambitions”.
On January 7 2001 the Sunday Times published extracts of a leaked copy of a letter from Winnie Madikizela-Mandela to Zuma, containing a devastating attack on Mbeki, including claims about his alleged womanising which the newspaper did not publish but which circulated elsewhere.
It seemed the Mbeki presidency was vulnerable. But the president fought back, consolidating support by portraying the Scopa initiative as an attack on the ANC and by excluding Judge Willem Heath from the investigation.
And, as it happened, the arms deal probe became a vehicle for turning the tables on Zuma, though there is scant evidence to suggest the probe of Zuma was directly manipulated. The key lead was when investigators luckily came across the former Thomson secretary who had kept a copy of the handwritten note that appeared to implicate Zuma, Shaik and Thomson director Alain Thetard in a bribe agreement.
Early claims from the Shaik camp that this so-called ”encrypted fax” was ”doctored” to implicate Zuma have not been borne out in court.
Indeed, all the evidence presented so far suggests that the line management of the investigation and prosecution has been impeccable.
On the other hand, a senior Scorpions investigator claimed: ”Perhaps we went after the right man for the wrong reasons.” Some of Ngcuka’s actions — notably his infamous off-the-record briefing to editors — suggest he was intent on using evidence against Zuma to bury him politically.
Perhaps the most direct evidence of interference by the presidency is an account, from an impeccable source, suggesting Mbeki learned of a plan to interdict Ngcuka from announcing his decision to prosecute Zuma and Shaik. An aide is said to have warned Ngcuka, who hurriedly convened the press conference where he damned Zuma as ”prima facie” guilty of corruption, but declined to charge him.
Also worrying is the apparent lack of progress on other legs of the arms deal investigation. Before her resignation in 2003, the leader of the prosecutions authority team probing the allegations, advocate Gerda Ferreira, produced a detailed memorandum recommending further action on several other legs of the probe.
They included the politically sensitive allegations against the late defence minister Joe Modise. These probes seem to be dormant.
The claim that Zuma’s financial peccadilloes are insignificant is difficult to sustain.
According to one top Umkhonto weSizwe operative, many senior activists found they could not survive on the salaries the ANC paid between 1990 and 1994. Many ”made a plan”, which often involved wealthy businessmen as benefactors. However, Zuma’s on loans and favours extended far beyond the pre-1994 period.
Among the African elite who support Zuma, there is concern about the hold the Shaik family has on him. There was even talk of African businessmen getting together to raise R3-million to ”buy” his freedom from Shaik.
Should Zuma succeed to the presidency, his huge financial and personal debt to the Shaiks would pose a potential conflict of interest.
Where does all this leave the Shaik trial? It would appear to be decisive for Zuma’s future. If Shaik is convicted of corruption, the pressure to charge Zuma will surely be irresistible. But if he is acquitted, Zuma appears unstoppable.