BARNEY MTHOMBOTHI

I first met Mosiuoa Gerard Patrick Lekota ― Terror to his friends ― who died this week, in the early 70s at the University of Zululand at Ngoye, near Empangeni.

A force of nature, he was the energetic permanent organiser of the SA Students’ Organisation (Saso) based in Beatrice Street, Durban. Most black campuses were in the thrall of Saso.

Sometimes an individual comes along whose life is either emblematic or mirrors the twists and turns, the ups and downs, of a particular epoch in a nation’s history. The passing of such a person thus provides an opportunity to trace and reflect on the road already traversed. Lekota was one such person.

Terror would rock up on campus in a beat-up and windowless VW kombi, an ancient clunker with flippers which popped out like a hand when indicating a turn.

It was a different era in so many ways. With the banning of political organisations following the Sharpeville shootings in 1960, fear and trepidation had descended on black life. It was as though life itself had been dimmed or outlawed. And the government took advantage of the lull to tighten the noose, eagerly putting in place its so-called grand apartheid policies ― creating bantustans in which the various black “nations” would happily enjoy the liberty of governing themselves. It was a script straight out of Kafka.

Terro was no push-over – just the man to have beside you in a scrap.

The emergence of the Black Consciousness movement and organisations such as Saso in the late 60s put paid to the timidity. Fear was replaced by defiance. Out of the exclusively black universities ― the so-called “bush colleges” which ironically had been created to produce obsequious toadies ― emerged young men and women such as Lekota ― assertive, unapologetic, supremely confident and courageous ― who rejected apartheid institutions and the Uncle Toms who served in them.

Lekota had himself been among students expelled from the University of the North. At a graduation ceremony in 1972, SRC president Abram Onkgopotse Tiro delivered a blistering attack on the system of Bantu education, in what became known as the Turfloop Testimony. The university authorities responded by expelling Tiro on the spot, thus unleashing solidarity strikes on black campuses around the country.

Lekota was likeable and considerate, with a face that seemed always ready to break into a smile. His voice would sometimes trail into a whisper as if the vocal cords were struggling to cope. He may have been good-natured, but just don’t mess with him. He was no push-over ― just the man to have beside you in a scrap. There’s a Zulu description for such a person: inkunzi ayidedi ― the bull that never retreats or backs down. It was a feature of his character that was to define his political life.

We were having a meeting at the university one Saturday afternoon when Lekota noticed that some people were missing. He went out looking for them. They were hiding behind a bush listening to a soccer match on the radio. He gave them an earful. They sheepishly skulked back with tails between their legs.

In September 1974, Saso and the Black People’s Convention (BPC) organised a pro-Frelimo rally at Durban’s Curries Fountain to celebrate Frelimo’s victory in Mozambique. That was a red rag to a bull. The rally was promptly banned, but the organisers decided to go ahead anyway. Police broke up the rally and the leadership, among them Lekota, Saths Cooper, Nkwenkwe Nkomo, Muntu Myeza, Pandelani Nefolovhodwe and many others were rounded up and charged under the Terrorism Act. The so-called Saso Nine may have been in the dock, but it was essentially BC that was on trial. They were all found guilty and sent to Robben Island.

As the UDF spokesperson, he was a reporter’s dream – articulate, always available and never shy to address some inconvenient topics.

The trial marked Steve Biko’s last public appearance before he was murdered by apartheid agents. It also coincided with the eruption of the Soweto unrest in 1976.

In prison, Lekota had apparently fallen out with his BC comrades and joined the ANC. Out of prison, he immediately got involved in activities that led to the formation of the United Democratic Front. As the UDF spokesperson, he was a reporter’s dream ― articulate, always available and never shy to address some inconvenient topics. But one got the sense that, in the ANC, Lekota may have found a new political home; but he never quite found peace or total acceptance.

I was having an interview with Archie Gumede, a Durban lawyer, who along with Albertina Sisulu had been elected UDF co-presidents. Gumede was waxing lyrical about how members of the white Liberal Party had gone out of their way to offer assistance to members of the Congress Alliance during the defiance campaign, when he suddenly turned to Lekota and, wagging his finger, said: “That’s what you BC people don’t want to acknowledge.” It was a bolt from the blue, taking him completely by surprise.

As ANC southern Natal chair, Lekota worked assiduously to grow the organisation in a fraught and violent region but was removed to make way for Jacob Zuma and sent to the Free State instead. And when he fell out with the likes of Ace Magashule, he was removed as premier and parcelled off to parliament. He was replaced by Ivy Matsepe-Casaburri, another exile.

In 1997, he expressed a desire to stand for the chairmanship at the ANC conference in Mahikeng, but was advised to step aside for Steve Tshwete. He refused and went on to defeat Tshwete. It was sweet revenge. Tshwete was the man who recommended he be removed from the Free State premiership.

While others were voicing their disapproval under their breath, Lekota stuck his neck out and criticised Zuma’s conduct in the runup to the shambolic Polokwane conference in 2007. He was subsequently frozen out and soon famously “served divorce papers” on the ANC.

Though the Congress of the People, his next gig, started out promisingly, it was destined to fail. There were just too many cooks in that broth. And some big political beasts were also pulling strings from the shadows.