WeeklySA_AdminCOMPROMISED: A commission of inquiry into an alleged political scandal about post-apartheid accountability began its hearings on February 11. So far, the process has been marred by the failure of political leaders and the police to comply, scholar Kylie Thomas warns…
By Kylie Thomas
A long-delayed reckoning with South Africa’s unfinished justice agenda is now underway — but already, the process is exposing familiar fault lines of political interference, institutional weakness, and selective accountability.
The Commission of Inquiry into alleged political obstruction of apartheid-era prosecutions, which began hearings on February 11, was meant to provide long-overdue answers. Instead, in its early stages, it is revealing just how deeply compromised the pursuit of justice has been since the dawn of democracy.
At the heart of the inquiry lies a troubling question: why have more than 300 cases of gross human rights violations — identified during the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) process — remained largely uninvestigated and unprosecuted for over two decades?
A broken promise
The TRC, concluded in 1998, was never intended to grant blanket impunity. Its design was clear: perpetrators who failed to apply for amnesty or were denied it would face prosecution through the normal criminal justice system.
By 2003, these unresolved cases were formally handed over to the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA). What followed, however, was not a sustained pursuit of justice, but a prolonged period of inertia — and, increasingly, allegations of deliberate obstruction.
The failure to prosecute apartheid-era crimes is
not administrative oversight — it is a profound betrayal of victims, the
Constitution, and the promise of democratic justice…
In a landmark 2019 letter to President Cyril Ramaphosa, 10 former TRC commissioners described the post-apartheid justice trajectory as “a shameful story of terrible neglect,” alleging collusion between the South African Police Service (SAPS), the NPA, and political actors to suppress prosecutions.
For victims and their families, this failure has compounded trauma rather than healing it. The promise that truth would be followed by justice has, for many, proven hollow.
The anatomy of interference
Testimony before the current inquiry is beginning to map out how this failure unfolded.
Former National Director of Public Prosecutions (NDPP) Bulelani Ngcuka told the commission that during his tenure, efforts were made to prioritise TRC-related prosecutions, including centralising them within the NPA and assigning dedicated leadership.
However, this momentum appears to have faltered under subsequent leadership.
Silas Ramaite, who served as Acting NDPP after Ngcuka’s resignation, testified that he was instructed in 2004 by then Minister of Justice Brigitte Mabandla to halt investigations into TRC cases. These cases, he was told, would instead be managed through an Amnesty Task Team — a structure outside the formal prosecutorial framework.
In hindsight, Ramaite conceded that he “could have, and should have, refused” the instruction — an admission that underscores the vulnerability of institutions when confronted with political pressure.
His successor, Vusi Pikoli, offered even more direct evidence of interference. In a confidential memorandum to the Justice Ministry, Pikoli described being obstructed in his duties and warned of an implicit expectation that prosecutions would not proceed.
“I have reached a point where I honestly believe that there is improper interference with my work,” he wrote, adding that he had effectively reached a “dead end.”
Shortly thereafter, Pikoli was suspended and ultimately removed from office.
His removal, widely linked to both his pursuit of corruption cases and his refusal to abandon TRC prosecutions, marked a turning point — reinforcing the perception that political considerations were overriding legal imperatives.
Fear and leverage
The inquiry has also heard how threats — both real and perceived — may have shaped decision-making at the highest levels.
Testimony suggests that former apartheid-era security officials wielded significant leverage, including claims of possessing evidence that could implicate senior ANC figures in past operations, such as the controversial 1985 landmine campaign.
Whether credible or not, these threats appear to have had a chilling effect.
Faced with the risk of political destabilisation — and the possibility of reputational damage to liberation-era leadership — authorities may have opted for quiet containment over public prosecution.
This dynamic, if confirmed, would point to a deeply uncomfortable reality: that South Africa’s democratic leadership may have entered into a tacit understanding to avoid reopening the wounds of the past, even at the cost of justice.
The success of the current inquiry depends heavily on cooperation from those implicated — yet early signs are not encouraging.
Key institutions, including SAPS and the Department of Justice, have been slow or reluctant to provide evidence. High-profile political figures, including former presidents, have not meaningfully engaged with the process.
More troubling still are efforts to undermine the commission itself.
Former presidents Thabo Mbeki and Jacob Zuma have called for the recusal of the commission’s chair, retired Constitutional Court Judge Sisi Khampepe, citing her prior role as a TRC commissioner. While framed as a procedural concern, such challenges risk derailing the inquiry before it can reach substantive conclusions.
Ramaphosa, who established the commission, has adopted a cautious stance — emphasising the need to protect its credibility, but stopping short of forcefully defending its leadership.
This balancing act reflects the broader political sensitivity surrounding the issue: any findings could have far-reaching implications for the reputations of both past and present leaders.
Beyond accountability
The stakes of the inquiry extend well beyond individual cases or political reputations.
At its core, the process is a test of South Africa’s constitutional order — specifically, whether the rule of law applies equally, or whether it can be selectively suspended in the face of political expediency.
The failure to prosecute apartheid-era crimes has already had tangible consequences.
It has eroded public trust in the justice system, reinforced perceptions of impunity among powerful actors, and left victims without closure. More broadly, it has weakened the moral foundation of South Africa’s democratic transition.
The TRC’s model — often praised globally — was predicated on a delicate balance between truth, accountability, and reconciliation. When one pillar collapses, the entire structure is compromised.
The commission is expected to conclude its hearings by the end of May 2026 and deliver its final report in July.
Yet, scepticism remains.
South Africa has a long history of commissions of inquiry that generate extensive findings but limited consequences. From Marikana to state capture, the pattern is familiar: detailed diagnoses, followed by uneven or delayed implementation.
There is a real risk that this inquiry could follow the same trajectory — producing a comprehensive account of past failures without triggering meaningful accountability.
If that happens, it will not simply be a missed opportunity. It will deepen an already entrenched sense that justice in South Africa is negotiable.
A moment of reckoning
And yet, the very existence of the inquiry represents a shift. Driven in large part by sustained advocacy from victims’ families and civil society organisations, the process reflects a renewed demand for accountability — one that refuses to accept silence as closure.
Whether that demand will translate into action remains uncertain.
What is clear, however, is that the question can no longer be deferred: can South Africa confront the unfinished business of its past, or will it continue to manage it through avoidance and compromise?
The answer will define, not only how the country remembers its history, but how it shapes its future. Because justice delayed, as this inquiry is making painfully clear, is not just justice denied — it is justice diminished. – Justice Info.net
* Kylie Thomas is a Senior Lecturer in the School of History and at the Radical Humanities Laboratory at University College Cork, Ireland
