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Mangosuthu Buthelezi. Picture: SUPPLIED
Mangosuthu Buthelezi. Picture: SUPPLIED

The laying to rest of Mangosuthu Buthelezi has revealed unsettling evidence of widespread amnesia. This may be a portent for the future rewriting of our recent violent history. It is one thing not to speak ill of the dead, but quite another to eulogise the departed by misrepresenting their well-documented record. Many obituaries and tributes glossed over that awkward evidence with platitudes like “a mixed legacy” and “controversial”, before going on to praise the late Inkatha leader as “a statesman” and, most disingenuously, “a man of peace”.  

Buthelezi butchered his way to the negotiating table. The plea in his defence? He knew nothing

With some notable local exceptions, the foreign press tended to be more forthright. A headline in the liberal Guardian reminded readers: “Thatcher didn’t care that Buthelezi inflicted mass bloodshed on SA, but we mustn’t forget.” Even the conservative London Times, which in the past had been supportive of Buthelezi, defined him as: “The smiling villain stained with the blood of thousands”, adding that he had “colluded with white nationalists”. The staid New York Times put his life into a wider social text with: “Zulu Nationalist and a Mandela Rival — a voice for tribal and ethnic rights.” 

The famously prickly Zulu traditional prime minister was his own best apologist. Before reaching his nineties, Buthelezi invariably responded at inordinate length to any criticism, even taking up columns of newsprint to respond to any adverse comment or perceived slight. His brief and resentful appearance before the Truth & Reconciliation Commission (TRC) reflected his haughty refusal to ever apologise. The late Alex Boraine, deputy chair of the TRC, recorded in his book, A Country Unmasked, that Buthelezi insisted before the commission “he had never, ever given instructions for any violence or unlawful activities. Yet a number of members of the Inkatha Freedom Party [IFP] stated over and over again in their applications that they had been under orders”. 

One reason for his dislike of the TRC, explained Boraine, “was his long-term antipathy towards his fellow Anglican, Archbishop Tutu”. Years earlier, Boraine had been on good terms with Buthelezi, but that ended in 1981 when Boraine’s student leader son, Andrew, called Inkatha a “Zulu Broederbond”. The easily offended Zulu leader wrote to Boraine Snr accusing him of failing to bring up his children properly. Buthelezi simply couldn’t tolerate criticism.  

British journalist Chris McGreal, the Guardian correspondent during the transition from apartheid, recalled this week that the former KwaZulu chief minister was so upset by his questions about Inkatha violence in the run-up to the 1994 election that he turned his chair around and refused to talk. “As a foreign reporter I got off easy,” wrote McGreal. “Many of those closer to home who challenged Buthelezi were subject to a campaign of terror and murder.” 

Murderous violence

After his refusal to return to the TRC or answer written questions, the TRC commissioners finally decided not to subpoena him, as they did others — for the very reason that had always been the ace up Buthelezi’s sleeve: the fear of unleashing murderous violence from his thousands of supporters. Despite his refusal to answer questions, the evidence of his complicity presented to the TRC was compelling: from regular contact with apartheid security agents to receiving arms and training from Pretoria for an Inkatha hit squad.

Inkatha violence was unleashed, concluded the TRC, not only against opponents like the ANC, but also against members of his own organisation “whose loyalty was doubted”. This led Boraine, a man of balanced judgment, to write, “What troubled me then and troubles me today was the evidence we received in many hearings — victim hearings, amnesty hearings, and special hearings — which told a very different story from the protestations of innocence made by Buthelezi.” 

Never admit, never apologise, seems to have been his motto. It served him well — as revealed by the many fudged tributes, at best ambivalent or evasive, at worst laudatory. The case for the prosecution can be summarised as: Buthelezi butchered his way to the negotiating table. The plea in his defence? He knew nothing. For the canny, controlling and all-powerful Inkatha supremo, who tolerated no dissent within his own ranks, this is simply unbelievable. 

Yes, Buthelezi was a towering personality who played a major role in our history. But between the release of Mandela and the 1994 election, the civil war between the ANC and Inkatha led to 20,00 deaths. The least we can do when we bury someone is to face the difficult facts and not inter the truth alongside them. 

Rostron is a journalist and author.

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