Review: Archie Henderson
Malema: Money. Power. Patronage, by Micah Reddy and Pauli van Wyk (Tafelberg)
There is a revealing moment in Julius Malema’s life, according to one of the authors’ sources, when the young man on the make meets a lawyer who has been hired to help him.
Seraj Ravat, an accountant, was asked to join a meeting at which a law firm was attempting to help Malema “in sorting out his tax affairs”, they write. It had been clear for some time that Malema had little understanding of how taxation worked and the SA Revenue Service was on his case.
It was to be Ravat’s third – and final – meeting with Malema.
We have only Ravat’s word for this meeting, but it’s worth repeating. It concerns an advocate, Andre Bezuidenhout, briefed by Brian Kahn Attorneys, the law firm trying to help Malema. “[Mr Bezuidenhout] spoke harshly to Mr J S Malema and said that if he does not shut his mouth and allow them to bring his affairs in order, he will go to jail. The meeting lasted 10 minutes.”
Years after this meeting, the authors interviewed Ravat, who “still spoke about the meeting in awed tones. “Jeez, you should have seen that guy talk to Julius … He [Malema] sat like a little puppy in that chair and said absolutely nothing. Julius just took it. J M said very little in that meeting. In fact, he was a mouse. He did not react. He just said: ‘Yes, I will’.”
As we now know, Mr J S Malema did not go to jail. Whether the law firm was able to bring his affairs in order is unknown. But we do know that Malema the Loudmouth suddenly became Julius the Pipsqueak. The story of the meeting, which has a strong ring of truth, is revealing of how he might respond when he can’t shout down those confronting him.
After the meeting, once the lawyers had left, the authors write, “Malema instructed [Lesiba] Gwangwa [a tenderpreneur in Limpopo] to make sure there was enough money in the account to pay them”– an amount that Malema estimated to be between R3.5m and R5m.
It’s one of the fascinating parts of a book that sets out in clinical detail how politicians have exploited the state purse in post-apartheid South Africa. In the middle of it all is Malema, with a variety of sidekicks along the way, among them Floyd Shivambu, who has also been linked to the collapse of the VBS bank and the subsequent penury of many pensioners in Limpopo.
The authors also set out a case of prima facie evidence that should long ago have led to court appearances for many of those involved. But, with South Africa’s investigative services compromised and the prosecution authorities’ hands tied, nothing has happened. Writer Riaan de Villiers describes Malema as “the biggest escape artist in South African politics in recent times”. Possibly of all time.
In other ways, Malema is South Africa’s Donald Trump. He is supremely confident and skilled in promoting his brand, he can be outrageous in his speeches and actions, he is derisive and dismissive of those who dare to challenge him – yet he is untouchable.
He sits on parliamentary committees where witnesses – some with everything to hide – squirm under his sharp interrogation. If you were unaware of Malema’s background, you might believe him to be a crusader for truth. You would be wrong.
No one in South Africa, of course, could be accused of such ignorance. We have had Malema thrust in our faces for years now. We have always suspected something dubious, but the evidence has been piecemeal. Now investigative journalists Micah Reddy and Pauli van Wyk have assembled disparate pieces of evidence, some of it previously in the public domain but some not, and presented it in a coherent case. And an unexpectedly readable one, for all its twists, turns and shocking detail.
It’s also an impressive piece of dogged investigative work by two of the profession’s finest gumshoes. Now if only state attorneys would take notice. Alas, they might not even read the book.