When Colonel Sibusiso Sihle Mbongwa died a month ago, his Umkhonto weSizwe comrades around the country had a decision to make.
Who would attend his funeral, and who would attend the funeral of MK stalwart General Andrew Masondo, who died on April 20 at 1 Military Hospital in Tshwane after a long illness? Both men were to be honoured for their brave lives, without mawkishness and sentimentality, on the same day.
For many who made the journey to KwaZulu Natal to remember Mbongwa, it was a decision buttressed by unabated comradeship. His funeral would be a more informal affair at which old soldiers had not been expected to wear their war uniforms or their medals. Their presence was tribute enough.
Masondo, on the other hand, was given the equivalent of a state funeral in the capital city, with all the pomp and orchestration befitting a general of the SANDF. Many comrades – alienated by the structures of government and feeling unwelcome in the midst of the old enemy, members of the former SADF – decided rather to be with Masondo’s mourners in spirit.
The loss of Mbongwa was deeply felt. It was a time for many former soldiers to reflect on their own harsh lives, and the sense of emptiness, the lack of fulfilment that democracy has brought them. They felt the sting again of no longer playing a role in SA’s social and political development.
Perhaps because of this, they had found particular poignancy in the beginning of Mbongwa’s end, which had happened at the funeral earlier this year of his own commander, Kevin Qhobosheane. Mbongwa had been addressing the mourners, who had come to honour a man who had led 1986’s Operation Butterfly for the ANC, when he collapsed. He never recovered.
Once, these cadres were young men and women, confined to camps in Southern Africa where they underwent gruelling military and political training as they awaited deployment to begin the war against class and racial oppression from inside the region – and, they hoped, the country. Today, too many are cut out by their unforgiving economic circumstances. It’s a disappointment which can elicit nervous, even dangerous introspection.
So the opportunity to become properly involved in society, to bring their experience and their training as soldiers to bear, is one many veterans would not turn down. Such an opportunity would surely be offered by the community policing forums (CPFs). Volunteering in the war against crime would surely be a natural fit for ex-combatants.
“But getting involved has not been as simple as that,” says Ayanda Dlodlo, general secretary of the Umkhonto weSizwe Military Veterans Association (MKMVA), based at the ANC’s headquarters, Luthuli House, in Joburg.
It was reported this week that the association had taken a decision at its weekend conference – the third such annual event – to deploy as many former cadres as possible into the CPFs, at least in Gauteng. Dlodlo reminds that “although we’ve been talking about this for a long time – even if you go back to the Hansard for the Gauteng Department of Safety and Security for 2001, you’ll see evidence of this – there has been a bit of reluctance to fund and ensure that social crime prevention projects become sustainable. After all, there is nothing binding individual station commissioners to make the deal flourish.”
At the same time, MKMVA national chairperson Kebby Maphatsoe confirms that MK veterans would, and do, work with CPFs, and says they have had many policing forums approach them to propose the involvement of former soldiers.
“Where this is happening,”he says, “it seems to be having a positive effect,” and he gives the example of the thriving CPF in Naledi, Soweto, which has seen crime gradually decline in its area. His belief is that this is so because of a sustained “process of bringing our comrades on board to defend the day-to-day issue of crime – not just when it occurs”.
In some townships, the involvement of ex-cadres has allowed traditional CPFs to transform into a bit of a hybrid as the philosophy of the powerful street committees of the early 1990s is being carefully integrated into their structures.
“There was a call from the president of the ANC to reinvent these street committees, and we are taking it very seriously,” says Maphatsoe. “This creates a scenario where so-and-so will say ‘I’ve seen this and that going on’, and we are able to use our neighbourhood intelligence to stop crime before it happens.”
Maphatsoe, like Dlodlo, feels that if MK cadres had been part of the Alexandra CPF, they could have done more to quell the considerable xenophobic brutality that has riven the township this week. Or they could have helped to prevent it altogether.
Goolam Karim, the chairperson of the Fairland CPF and a former CPF chair in the area police commissioner’s office, says he thinks it’s “a good idea to invite MK cadres, but rather than identifying them as such when we do this, we should simply bring them into the situation.
“There are those people who do not see them as having been properly integrated into our society”.
Karim immediately introduces a shameful obstacle: one which people do not always like to discuss openly. But it is true that there are many who mistrust former ANC cadres. They would not want to think of them being involved, especially not in suburban CPFs catering largely to white middle-class interests. Merely the words “street committee” would terrify some. And, of course, ignorance is no excuse for the misguided belief which too many have that Zanu-PF’s routing of the white farmer class was carried out by Zimbabwe’s apparently bloodthirsty former war veterans.
“That’s why it would be critical for us to integrate veterans from all the liberation movements,” says Karim, “as well as ex-military people from the previously white army. It would have to be widespread.”
Retired SANDF Colonel Jan Malan, who is part of the CPF in Lynnwood Manor, east of Pretoria, believes that people with military experience can contribute greatly to public safety.
“The big challenge in our anti-crime efforts is that there may be enough of everything, but in the wrong place and not properly mobilised. We tend to have a totally reactive system against crime, which means we wait until crime happens, and then we want to charge out after an alarm has gone.
“We need a control mechanism, where there is joint planning and execution of operations, just like there is in the military. There is a big difference in the mind of a military person and a policeman.”
His indignation about anti-crime efforts fuelled and darkened by suburban paranoia, Malan corroborates Karim’s warning about perceptions in some communities about race, class and political allegiance.
“Even former soldiers who would like to get involved in CPFs must have a standing in the community so that I and you will be able to trust them with our information. They must be put on a level at which we can trust them – and pay them for that so that it becomes a job.”
Karim feels it would be a pity if former cadres did not wait for an official resolution or policy on their participation in public safety, but simply joined their CPFs anyway – as ordinary members of the community. Dlodlo has no problem with this, but she would prefer it if the involvement of MK forces in CPFs was part of a proper social programme.
The SAPS would not comment.