Liberation troops live in desperate hardship, 14 years after democracy was attained, writes Janet Smith
There was no contrivance in the message of ex-combatants as they warned they could do something “undesirable” if the government does not do an immediate audit of state-controlled land and farms. They were talking about land, but the subtext was far more powerful.
The sentiment – expressed at a meeting of the Umkhonto weSizwe Military Veterans Association (MKMVA) in Durban last weekend – was not simply a reflection of the long years of collateral damage MK cadres have experienced. At last, the old soldiers say, the time has come for explicit recognition and support from the ANC and government. There can be no further delay.
After all, this is the month in 1979 in which Solomon Mahlangu, a remarkable soldier, walked, head held high, to the gallows. Although he was to die for the murders of white civilians that he did not commit, the 23-year-old cadre faced apartheid’s noose with his fist raised in salute.
The pride of his comrades in Mahlangu and in their own heroism remains real and true. And, set against the backdrop of last month’s 20th commemoration of the Cuito Canavale battle – which elevated the courage of our liberation troops attached to Angolan, Cuban and Soviet brigades – the soldiers should be feeling strong.
But the inevitability of post-Polokwane attrition, with promises made but not enough progress yet, has intensified their impatience. Although the veterans went to the ANC’s fraught national conference in December with optimism, backing their preferred candidate, Jacob Zuma, throughout the year, too many say they can wait no longer.
They live in desperate hardship, and their warning at the Durban meeting may offer prescience to the current ANC leadership in whom the former fighters have placed their trust, many claiming they were all but eviscerated under the “aloofness” of the old leadership.
The MVA, which has its headquarters at Chief Albert Luthuli House in Johannesburg, has demanded “visible action” that will improve the lives of its members. Certainly, they want land. But more than anything, they urgently seek hope, and help. And, as the association’s secretary, Nonkonzo Molai, summarised at the Durban gathering, although it remains the duty of former soldiers to defend “until death” the ANC and its government, it demands “speedy implementation of resolutions taken by the ANC before we are forced to take actions that might be interpreted as undesirable”.
“The ANC and its government has [a] duty to take care of our needs. We, however, do not see ... commitment from them.”
For many veterans, the route to this point has been tortuous, the journey exhausting. There is simply too much that is outstanding for them, 14 years after the first democratic election. And it is not only at a socioeconomic level that the pain resides. On an emotional, if not spiritual level, the soldiers hurt too.
They want the remains of fighters who died in other countries returned home, rejecting the view that individual South African families should sort out the repatriation and burial of those who died for liberation. And although the National Heritage Council spearheaded the issue back into serious debate at an international conference last month, it also argues that a paucity of coherent policy from within government renders good efforts, at best, sporadic.
There are hints at correction. When ANC president Jacob Zuma visited Angola for the Cuito Cuanavale meeting in March, he vowed to champion monuments for fallen MK cadres. And as Zuma has more than an edge with the veterans, his words were close to poetic for them.
The first time he burst out with Umshini Wam’ – under the complex political circumstances of his personal challenges some three years ago – he was transformed into an MK soldier all over again. It was a theme thick with the militancy of nostalgia. Zuma’s jocular theatre was a smash hit among many whose glinting medals and Soviet camouflage had been packed away in the years of disappointment after the battle was won at the ballot box in 1994.
So they flanked their man all the way to Polokwane, where they declared their ambition for a ministry of military affairs and a presidential commission to deal with their welfare. Umshini Wam’ – “Bring me my machine gun, don’t make me wait” – was apt as their mantra, most of them having occupied a precarious social position since the early 1990s.
Although delegates at Polokwane warmly embraced the veterans in programmes and structures, the MVA was denied its dream of being a voting bloc like the ANC Women’s League and Youth League. But if this was a signal from the party, it did not deter the soldiers.
The MVA’s new national general secretary, Ayanda Dlodlo, is deeply empathic to the veterans’ continued struggles, although she urges that they must prioritise their own issues, “ensuring we play an active role in the ANC”. Under her leadership, intentions for the association are ambitious, and, importantly, extend outwards.
Honours, for instance, are planned for the Angolans and, specifically, their first post-independence president Agostinho Neto, who gave MK refuge for so long. Assassinated MK commander Chris Hani is to receive the highest award. Symbolism can stave off the moral tone of disintegration, but it is not enough, and Dlodlo refuses to wallow.
Until now, the affairs of veterans have largely fallen under the office of the deputy defence minister. But many believe it has been an unsatisfactory relationship with no specific efforts to deal with their issues. “Suitable models” on how to deal with the turmoil growing around them were once discussed, with a view to conducting an international investigation of countries where war veterans are a feature of society.
None has been ratified, so the MVA’s own renewal drive is intense.
Close to a thousand veterans arrived at its third national conference held last year, held three months before Polokwane. Soldiers opted strongly for the political mainstream, operating from within the revolutionary alliance. But they want their own identity, with constitutional powers. Lobbying goes on.
Yet some observers, such as political analyst Prince Mashele of the Institute for Security Studies, are vexed by the point of this argument. “If you try and project to, say, 50 years from now ... will there be a need for an MK veterans league?” he asks.
“What is the wisdom of creating a league that is not going to last forever? I cannot see the wisdom myself, although you could argue that, until the end of time, we will have women in society, or youth. In principle, this will not hold for veterans.”
Dlodlo understands the veterans’ quest for recognition, herself a former fighter and a survivor of the war in Southern Africa. But, as with Zola Skweyiya, the minister of social development, and Siphiwe Nyanda, the former head of the South African National Defence Force (SANDF), she wants to pluck justice out of the ruin of post-demobilisation in the late 1990s.
“So many veterans went through so much – they never even experienced their childhood and youth,” she explains.
“They were so politically mature even as children that eventually they only knew what it was like to be in those camps and in a state of war by the time they came home around 1990. We have to bring real meaning to their lives now.”
As enthusiasm appears to be waning in the ranks with Polokwane moving further into the distance, many now look back on controversies, mostly riven by political alignment, which have sought to divide MK veterans.
This has been particularly the case in the Western Cape, where a veterans conference hosted in December 2006 by premier Ebrahim Rasool to establish an MVA in the region still riles. It was regarded as illegitimate by the ANC’s provincial office, although many of the veterans argued that they were concerned only with having their suffering alleviated.
Dubbed factional fighting, the debacle spun out into open criticism of years of inaction in improving the lives of veterans. Two years before, in 2005, splits in allegiance were already being discussed vociferously at a veterans’ conference in Johannesburg. At that time, calls were made for government to establish projects veterans could run. Many waited in vain.
It’s been a difficult 14 years for MK, with some formerly illustrious members denigrated. Chief among these are former commander Joe Modise and ex-cadre Shamin “Chippy” Shaik. And allegations of fraud within the MVA further shattered the association’s confidence in its leadership a few years ago when former chairperson Deacon Mathe and former treasurer Dumisani Khoza were accused of embezzling millions in investments that effectively belonged to the cadres.
Mashele agrees that a top-to-bottom reassessment of MK is critical as the new ANC leadership may at last facilitate its vision. “But one needs to be clear. In terms of MK, can certain proposals for their future fit in with the political parties concerned or society or government?
“The authority that deals with matters related to veterans could be Freedom Park, for example. It deals with a range of issues related to the liberation war. But there is very little coordination between it and other government agencies on the question of how to deal with veterans.
“The main question is: to what extent is the MVA able to exert influence within the ANC so that the ANC prioritises their needs and takes up their issues within government?”
The MVA has certainly not lost heart. It has called on the department of agriculture to allocate appropriate land to veterans, just as was done decades ago for Boer military veterans. It has also asked for training, particularly from the department of education. It has requested a verifiable database to assist with reintegration. It pleads for the department of social welfare to embrace the destitute. There is not a single member who would not take up a chance to be part of society, the MVA says.
“We vow to make sure sacrifices were not in vain,” says Molai. But there may be wisdom in interpreting the undeniable message in Dlodlo’s steadfastness: “We haven’t forgotten we come from war. This chapter has not yet been closed.”