Former president Jacob Zuma. Photo: Delwyn Verasamy/M&G
The Man from Nkandla: Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma — a name that carries weight, history and a peculiar mix of revolution, reverence and revulsion in South Africa.
His middle name, Gedleyihlekisa, resonates in Zulu with a powerful cultural warning — translated loosely, it means “the one who smiles while causing you harm” — or perhaps on the flipside of the coin, “the one who laughs while deceiving you”. For a nation still grappling with the consequences of his political career, the meaning seems almost prophetic.
Zuma, a polarising love-hate political figure and liberation hero, rose through the ANC ranks, was jailed on Robben Island and exiled, eventually becoming president in 2009.
After nine turbulent years in office, he fell dramatically from grace, leaving behind a legacy riddled with controversy and a trail of legal battles that continue to this day. Reinventing himself in recent years with his self-styled uMkhonto weSizwe party, Zuma remains a figure revered by loyalists and reviled by critics.
For more than two decades, the courts have been Zuma’s second battlefield. His legal strategy — repeatedly filing applications, seeking recusals and delaying proceedings — is known as the “Stalingrad defence”, a term borrowed from the protracted World War II battle.
Zuma has tested the patience of the judiciary, turning each legal appearance into a saga that sometimes seemed more political theatre than a judicial process, while chuckling at us with his trademark grin.
Yet, last week in Pretoria, that strategy found its limits. Judge Anthony Millar, presiding over Zuma’s case in absentia, rejected years of procedural wrangling. He ordered Zuma to repay the Office of the State Attorney R28,9 million, plus interest, for legal fees incurred in private litigation.
The judgment was emphatic: Zuma has 60 days to comply, failing which the state may attach and sell his movable and immovable property — including, potentially, his presidential pension. Nkandla itself, however, remains untouchable, protected as tribal land under the Ingonyama Trust.
Zuma’s predicament is a stark illustration of legal accountability confronting political power. But how did he reach this point?
The Democratic Alliance (DA), South Africa’s main opposition party, took the bold step of challenging the state’s funding of Zuma’s private legal costs, which over time had ballooned beyond R30 million.
Courts had already signalled that this use of taxpayer money was unlawful. In 2018, the Pretoria High Court sided with the DA and subsequent rulings from the Gauteng High Court and the Supreme Court of Appeal reinforced that the state must be reimbursed.
The implications are broader than a single payment. Taxpayers — 7,4 million people funding a country of 65 million — bear the burden of both prosecution and defence in cases where corruption and maladministration intersect with political privilege.
The irony is painful — citizens struggle to access basic services, while state coffers fund the protracted legal manoeuvring of a former president. Zuma’s case underscores a deeper problem — the systemic abuse of public resources under the guise of entitlement.
Beyond legal fees, billions have been siphoned through state contracts, patronage networks and politically connected enterprises.
Hospitals, schools and municipalities deteriorate as the machinery of state is exploited for private gain.
The judiciary, often vilified by populists, remains the only effective bulwark against these abuses. Its steadfast enforcement of the rule of law sends a message — no one, not even a former head of state, is above accountability.
Zuma’s legal woes are not merely a cautionary tale of fiscal mismanagement. They are intertwined with the country’s political and social fabric.
His presidency was marked by widespread allegations of corruption, nepotism and undue influence from powerful private actors — most notably India’s Gupta family — and state capture that compromised institutional integrity.
The Nkandla judgment of 2016, where the Constitutional Court upheld the public protector’s findings, was a landmark affirmation that constitutional obligations must override political privilege.
Zuma’s failure to reimburse the state violated not only legal norms but the spirit of accountability enshrined in the Constitution.
Even now, the repercussions of Zuma’s actions reverberate. The July 2021 unrest after his incarceration demonstrated how politically mobilised, volatile support bases can translate legal disputes into social unrest. KwaZulu-Natal, his power base, became a stark illustration of how intertwined legal accountability and political loyalty remain in South Africa’s fraught democracy.
The rulings this year and last year reinforce that the law must prevail, regardless of status or influence. The DA’s litigation, culminating in Judge Millar’s directive, represents a historic precedent — the public purse is not a private wallet for political elites.
It also highlights the painstakingly slow arc of accountability. Some of Zuma’s overlapping legal battles — from the arms-deal prosecutions to civil repayment claims — have taken decades to resolve. Yet each case reinforces the principle that even entrenched political power is subject to legal scrutiny. His predicament also exposes the enduring challenges of governance and economic oversight in post-apartheid South Africa.
The arms-deal scandal, state capture inquiries and procurement controversies are not isolated incidents; they reveal systemic vulnerabilities in public institutions. Whether in healthcare, infrastructure or municipal governance, the intersection of politics, patronage and procurement remains a threat to economic stability and social equity.
What does Zuma’s case tell us about the broader health of South African democracy? First, it demonstrates the judiciary’s indispensable role in maintaining constitutional integrity. Courts, despite political pressure and populist attacks, act as a counterweight to abuse of power.
Second, it signals to political elites that accountability, though slow, is inexorable. Third, it serves as a national mirror; a reflection of a society negotiating the boundaries of justice, morality and political expediency.
The lessons extend beyond Zuma. Every public official, every minister, every civil servant operates within a framework where law, ethics and public scrutiny intersect.
South Africa’s challenge is not enforcing individual accountability but reforming systems to prevent repeated exploitation. The state must strengthen transparency, oversight and institutional independence to ensure public resources are protected from personal or political gain.
In the final analysis, Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma’s story is emblematic of the tension between power and principle. His legal battles are a drama of national significance, a testament to both the dangers of political impunity and the resilience of South Africa’s judicial system.
For citizens, the takeaway is clear — vigilance, institutional integrity and civic engagement are vital in safeguarding democracy. For the state, the imperative is equally stark — enforce accountability, recover public resources and send an unambiguous message that no one is untouchable.
The countdown is on. Zuma has until the final week of December to repay millions or face asset seizure. Beyond the financial consequences, the case symbolises the possibility of justice in a country long plagued by corruption and political entitlement.
South Africa, as a nation, is watching — and in that watching, perhaps finding a renewed belief that even the most powerful are accountable under the law.
In the end, the man from Nkandla may still smile, but the judiciary has ensured his grin is measured against the unyielding ledger of accountability — a reminder that, in a democracy, no laugh can shield wrongdoing forever. The judiciary, DA and Economic Freedom Fighters, which patented the “pay back the money” mantra, have the last laugh now.
Marlan Padayachee is a veteran political, foreign and diplomatic correspondent, freelance journalist and researcher.