I watched with pain last year when your balance sheets were splashed in the media. I empathised with your humiliations. At one stage I felt so pained, I did not want to see or hear any further media reports.
I write this article with the same sense of empathy. This time, however, you are not the victim but the agent. Perhaps you feel the allegations are so serious as to justify recourse to an archaic law that allows probing into ”the sexual history” of an accuser. In instructing your advocate, did you set any boundaries?
Watching the unfolding court saga, my eyes remained fixed on you. My ears have been pinned to the radio and I have scanned the papers for a sign that you are aware of the power you command. I have waited, in vain, for an indication that you understand the burden of that power and that you will exercise it wisely and judiciously.
Whether this person has made unfounded allegations now and in the past, the material on which she was examined last week is evidence of a painful life. She was forced to speak of experiences that led her to seek psychiatric help. Empathy with the pain of others is a central characteristic of the free and humane society we have struggled to build. These values are applicable to everyone.
Instead, this vulnerability was exploited as apparently impugning the credibility of your accuser. Outside, your supporters were burning her effigies and she was physically threatened. If you see yourself as a father figure in the struggle, what message does the actions of your supporters, and the strategy adopted by your defence, give to South Africans?
What guidance does the behaviour of your legal team give us at a time when we are trying to transform our legal framework, and build a society that cares for every human being, especially the most vulnerable?
We are told that the ”sexual history” of this person is being probed to show her lack of credibility as an accuser. In reality, what we have witnessed has been the rehearsing of a series of painful episodes in her life. You replicated your favourite song ”give me my machine gun” and discharged fire without any holds barred.
You have not only fed into the most backward sections of South African law, but you have deployed your training as an armed fighter in that arena against an unarmed individual.
Are the weapons you have deployed compatible with that vision and appropriate to the target?
It has been reported that your daughter Duduzile will be called as a witness and that, among other things, she will testify that your accuser ”went into your study inappropriately dressed”. Reading this, I recalled an opening of Parliament where you were accompanied by one of your daughters. The caption under the photograph of the two of you said something about her dress ”revealing too much”. I was angered by this.
What woman wants to know that her father had ”delicious sex” with another woman in his family home? Must she be one of the grenades that are thrown at the target, despite the fact that she is not in a position to say whether rape took place?
There is no doubt that you feel you have been under siege for a long time. Is it not imaginable that you could have fought to clear your name and still remained within the realm of compassion, decency and respect for the human being who finds herself in this painful position?
There is a Xhosa saying ”isisila senkukhu sibonakala mhla ligquthayo [the tail of a hen will be shown on a windy day]”. Of which calibre are you? ”Not in my name” — we have hoped to hear those words uttered from your lips, as you call off your supporters.
As you know, the Nguni game of stick fighting is hailed not only for its art. At its core are the teachings about ”fighting with honour and dignity”. Young men may engage in battle for hours without bloodshed. The one who spills the blood of the other is not celebrated as a winner. ”Yhu, lixelegu! [A person with no self-respect!],” people exclaim after the fight.
The first person to throw the stick to the ground is the stronger party. Often, the weaker party will make an almost imperceptible nod, indicating defeat. Then the winner will throw the stick used for attack to the ground. All the sticks will be thrown or handed over to the senior person present. Everyone knows the winner.
Supposing you are acquitted of the rape charge, will you have won? How delicious will your victory taste, knowing you have done the very opposite of what our ancestors taught us –”do not beat your enemy to the ground, always leave room for a person to recover their composure”.
Will this woman ever recover from the weapons of destruction with which she was assailed in the court room?
Looking at the smiles of your friends and family, these lines from a Nigerian poet came to mind: ”… Now that the triumphant march has entered the last street corner / Remember o dancers, the thunder amongst the clouds …” — Christopher Okigbo, The Path of Thunder.
Nomboniso Gasa is a gender and political analyst