self-confessed violators of human rights from across south africa's politial landscpe

The Truth Commission’s first public amnesty hearing was held in the relatively obscure village of Phokeng near Rustenburg in May 1996. The applicants were two convicts serving time for murdering Glad Mokgatle on the 29^th of December 1990. They were 35-year-old Boy Diale and 53-year-old Christopher Makgale. Their amnesty hearing revealed a dramatic story layered with subtext. About a killing, a tribe, resources and, ultimately, power. But it also introduced a new scene in the Truth Commission play, with different actors and different lines. Antjie Samuel, Andries Sathekge and Angie Kapelianis report.

Soldiers block the main road to Phokeng: "The Place of Dew". The ancestral home of the Bafokeng tribe. Razor wire hugs the civic centre, the venue of the world’s first public amnesty hearing and the tribe’s seat of power. The hearing is running late. Where should the amnesty applicants sit? On the stage with the three judges? Next to the victims whose father they killed? Or in the audience among free citizens? The applicants are finally propped on the stage.

…Are you prepared to take the oath in this matter? Interpret that to him, please…

Hassen Mall

…Has he said yes?

Yes, I’m prepared to take an oath.

Will you please right your … raise your right hand and swear that the evidence you’re about to give to this commission will be the truth, nothing but the truth and say: "So help me God"…

Boy Diale

…So help me God.

Thank you. You may be seated…

Boy Diale’s story begins in 1977 when Bophuthatswana became independent from South Africa and Lucas Mangope was appointed president. Human rights lawyer Brian Currin asks Diale to explain why he killed Glad Mokgatle.

…Our aim was actually to hold Mr Mo… Mogale [Mokgatle] … uh … uh … hostage so that Mr Mangope can realise that we were serious about our demand. We wanted our chief to come back home. And we wanted the state of emergency to be eradicated. And we wanted the Bophuthatswana government to be dismantled because it was oppressing the people…

[Murmurs and applauds]

Bafokeng Chief Edward Lebone Molotlegi flees to Botswana in March 1988 after being released from detention without trial. His crime? He publicly opposes Bophuthatswana’s independence, because it entails the transfer of his tribe’s platinum-rich land, mineral rights and royalties to Mangope. Brian Currin recalls Mangope’s sentiments about the tribe.

…"Bophuthatswana is like a prickly pear. Very strong. Tasty, but it is also dangerous. I warn you strongly not to abuse me. I’m not your dustbin. Do not play games with me. If you do, I will prick and pierce you like the prickly pear…"

[Laughs slightly]

Mangope is true to his word. He systematically replaces legitimate chiefs. He unilaterally appoints Glad Mokgatle to manage the tribe and to look after the keys to the Bafokeng civic centre, the tribe’s seat and symbol of power. Enter the Phiri, Bafokeng men between the ages of 18 and 65. They meet at the Roman Catholic Church on the 29^th of December 1990.

The Phiri then drive to Tshaneng, where they find 83-year-old Glad Mokgatle, panga in hand. When he puts up a fight, they hit him hard, shove him into the kombi and drive off. In the veld between Luka and Rooikraalspruit, Glad Mokgatle is thrown on to the ground and assaulted. Boy Diale says he hit the old man with his fists and shoes. But this isn’t good enough for Amnesty Committee Judge Bernard Ngoepe.

…Just what part did you personally play? How did you assault him? What did you do? We need to know that.

I kicked him and I … I hit him with my fists and I strangle his neck. That’s the part I took in the killing…

Amnesty co-applicant Christopher Makgale continues the story.

…I had a look at Mr [Glad] Mokgatle and I could see that he was still alive…

[Whistles in shock]

…I’s … I took the … the … the sable [sabre] from him and I chopped him. I chopped him personally. I chopped him because I realised that we were heading for the prison. I wanted to sweep away the evidence…

[Starts clapping]

…I didn’t want anybody to know or to have any light that Mr Makgale was here. We … we … we went into the kombi and we drove off…

Christopher Makgale attends a funeral vigil and says absolutely nothing to his wife about killing the man he regarded as Mangope’s lackey.

…Is this today the first time that you’ve publicly admitted your active participation?

This is my first time, sir…

Listening to these admissions in the audience are the sons of Glad Mokgatle. "We have forgiven them as a family," says Aaron Mokgatle. But it is his brother, Charles, who desperately seeks forgiveness and reconciliation. "Please, my people," he begs, "I’m a child of the Bafokeng tribe" and "[I] obey the rules of the chief". With these words, the Mokgatle sons are welcomed back into the fold of the tribe. The amnesty hearings end. Three months pass. Christopher Makgale and Boy Diale learn of their fate on [SABC] radio on the 29^th of August 1996. Amnesty granted.

…They [the Amnesty Committee] are satisfied that … uh … the … uh … evidence overwhelmingly indicates that the offence was committed with a political objective…

But the Amnesty Committee fails to inform prison commander Fanie Stander of its decision.

…Ek het geen dokumentasie ontvang nie. Volgens wat ek…

I haven’t received any documentation yet. But I believe there was something in the news about it. I’ll have to confirm that with the Truth Commission before I accept it as the truth and free these men.

…Ek gaan so spoedig moontlik dié inligting opvolg om dit bevestig te kry…

So Boy Diale and Christopher Makgale spend another night in jail. As free men whose criminal slates have been erased officially.

["Woods"*]

The Amnesty Committee’s first public hearing of convicted white Afrikaans perpetrators was also its first rejection of amnesty. Forty-seven-year-old Hennie Gerber and 42-year-old Johan van Eyk appeared before the amnesty panel in Pretoria in July 1996. Gerber and Van Eyk were former policemen and ex-investigators with the cash-in-transit company Fidelity Guards. On the 21^st of May 1991, they interrogated, tortured, shot dead and burnt their colleague Samuel Kganakga. They had suspected him of being involved in an armed robbery of about R4 million and the theft of R60 000. Angie Kapelianis and Darren Taylor report.

Hennie Gerber is bulky, brash and bearded. He oozes confidence and looks the Amnesty Committee in the eye whenever he speaks. Johan van Eyk, on the other hand, has a light frame, neat moustache and small eyes. He’s clearly nervous. Pale in the face, he breathes heavily, moves around uncomfortably in his chair and speaks haltingly. Both wear grey suits, the colour of the apartheid state. Both joined the police at the tender age of 16. Both were trained to combat terrorism. And both became well versed in interrogation and torture.

…Ek het Samuel [Kganakga] toe aan sy voete vasgemaak en hom in die boom opgehys, [waar hy] kop onderstebo gehang het. Ek het die skokmasjien aan sy privaatdele verbind, gekonnekteer…

Hennie Gerber is convinced that Samuel Kganakga is involved in a PAC [Pan-Africanist Congress] plan to steal money. The unbanned but cash-strapped liberation movement is targeting financial institutions to fund its political cause. When more than R4 million is robbed from Fidelity Guards in 1991, Gerber confronts Kganakga. But he denies any knowledge or involvement. So he’s taken to a mine dump near Cleveland in Johannesburg, where Gerber normally braais. There, he’s hoisted up a bluegum tree – hands cuffed behind his back, feet tied with ropes and his private parts exposed to more than seven hours of electric shocks from a portable generator. It looks just like an old-fashioned telephone. While this is happening, Gerber, Van Eyk and their colleague Frans Oosthuizen drink – vodka and brandy.

…Daar was drank in my kar. Ons het begin drink…

I had alcohol in my car and we started drinking. We always drank hard liquor during those types of interrogation. Because no right-thinking person can torture someone like that without it haunting your conscience.

…so martel dat dit jou gewete jou nie pla nie…

Suddenly, Frans Oosthuizen pulls out his gun and shoots Kganakga in the shoulder. When they lower him from the tree, he tries to run away. Gerber fires two shots in Kganakga’s back. His pulse stops beating. Johan van Eyk still struggles to speak about that day. His job was to get rid of the corpse.

…Ek het gery na ’n bos by Benoni…

I drove to a bush in Benoni on the East Rand. I put his body on a piece of sponge, poured petrol all over him and set him alight.

…en hom aan die brand gesteek…

I drove off immediately. I didn’t look back to see how he was burning.

…Ek het hom aan die brand gesteek en onmiddellik gery. Ek het nie gekyk hoe hy gebrand het nie…

The next morning, Van Eyk and another colleague, Piet Niemand, return to Benoni to make sure that Samuel Kganakga’s body is completely burnt.

…Die een hand van die oorledene was nie gebrand nie…

Samuel Kganakga’s right hand hadn’t burnt. So Piet Niemand suggested that we chop it off.

…Ons het na…

We drove to a shop where he bought an axe. He then chopped off Samuel Kganakga’s hand and we threw it away along the road.

…Ons het toe gery met die hand en langs die pad weggegooi. Dit was om die…

We had to conceal his identity. It was the only part of the body that hadn’t burnt, Honourable Chairperson.

…voorsitter…

Gerber and Van Eyk must convince the Amnesty Committee of their political motives for killing Samuel Kganakga.

…As lid van die Nasionale Party het ek deurentyd te goeder trou opgetree. Nie net in belang van Fidelity Guards nie…

As a National Party member, I always acted in good faith. Not only in the interest of Fidelity Guards, but also for the country’s economy, which was being targeted. I also acted in line with National Party statements of the time.

…in lyn opgetree met uitsprake wat daardie tyd gemaak was deur die Nasionale Party…

Although remorse is not a requirement for amnesty, Gerber and Van Eyk seize the moment to say sorry.

…Agbare kommissie, ek is vir drie-en-’n-half jaar in ’n gevangenis. Ek bly in ’n enkelsel. Ek het genoeg tyd gehad om te besin. Ek het baie spyt in my hart…

Honourable Commission, I’ve been in jail for the past three-and-a-half years. I live in a single cell and I’ve had lots of time to reflect. I’ve lots of regret in my heart. I don’t know if Samuel Kganakga’s mother is here today, but I want to apologise, to stretch out my hand and to say to her: I’m sorry for what I did. But Samuel had so many chances. I told him and his colleagues that they were playing with fire, but they didn’t have ears. So, I want to stretch out my hand and ask for forgiveness and reconciliation. They say stress kills, but they don’t say how stress actually kills you.

…laat jou doodmaak, maar niemand sê hoe stres jou doodmaak as ’n persoon nie…

Hennie Gerber and Johan van Eyk are denied amnesty on the 6^th of September 1996. The Amnesty Committee finds no evidence that Samuel Kganakga was a PAC member. Gerber and Van Eyk habitually indulged in unlawful torture to interrogate suspects. They killed Kganakga so that he couldn’t lay charges against them because his injuries would have proved prolonged torture. The story, though, doesn’t end here. Gerber takes the Amnesty Committee’s decision on review to the High Court. But this, too, is rejected. So Hennie Gerber and Johan van Eyk must pay the full price for their crime, and spend another combined 18 years in jail.

["Woods"]

The first apartheid security force member to testify in public and be granted amnesty was police captain Brian Mitchell of New Hanover in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands. Mitchell appeared before the Amnesty Committee in Pietermaritzburg in October 1996. His 30-year prison sentence was expunged within two months, on the eve of the initial deadline for amnesty applications. Mitchell wasted no time in revisiting the village that he and his special constables had destroyed in December 1988, when he ordered them to kill ANC supporters on behalf of the Inkatha Freedom Party. And when, instead, they killed 11 people – mainly women and children – at a night vigil in Trust Feed. Dumisani Shange, Angie Kapelianis and Darren Taylor report.

…I’ve become a Christian able to rethink what I did those years and why I did them…

Brian Mitchell is a slightly built man with an open face. He glances nervously at the audience below the amnesty stage of the cold hall. At the elderly women wrapped in blankets. At the 12-year-old girl in the wheelchair. And there, just to the left, at the family of the four-year-old boy he killed.

…The releasing of an individual like Brian Mitchell would normally be anathema to me. It would be repugnable in the extreme in any normal society…

Michael Naidoo

…I find it repugnable to stand here and actually argue that Brian Mitchell be released…

…And I can just ask the people that were involved directly or indirectly and who have been affected by this case to consider forgiving me.

Yes. Now you say that the time you spent in prison both before and after your sentence has been for you a learning experience, is that correct?

Yes, it has. I have … I have lost … I have lost everything in life…

The community is not happy that Mr Mitchell be given amnesty and be released without paying the full price of his actions…

Mahmood Cajee

…and serving the full sentence that has been imposed on him by court…

…Well, I’ve suc… subsequently been divorced…

…I don’t want to distress you, Mr Mitchell…

Andrew Wilson

…Is it correct that your wife suffered a great deal as a result of this?…

Yes, my lord, enormously.

Tell us, Mr Mitchell, when last have you seen your son? Was it several years ago that you last saw him? Yes…

Brian Mitchell’s eyes fill with tears and glaze over as the relatives of those he killed sob. His whole body starts shaking. And he swallows hard frequently.

…The community of Trust Feeds has also requested me to advise the Amnesty Committee that they will try to forgive Mr Brian Mitchell if he becomes actively involved in the reconstruction of the community that he was responsible for destroying…

…The Brian Mitchell of the Trust Feed massacre was a Brian Mitchell steeped in the indoctrination of the apartheid system. The Brian Mitchell before you has undergone a transformation. Brian Mitchell comes before you today and says that he wants to go out there and he wants to be actively involved in freeing others from the shackles of their indoctrination. And this he wants to do by being involved in preaching and through his future conduct and involvement in the community…

[Sings and claps]

Brian Mitchell returns to Trust Feed in April 1997, flanked by six policemen – three on each side. He’s dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white patterned shirt. As he waits to face his victims, he folds his arms. Hundreds of people break into song. Mitchell blinks his eyes – almost in time to the beating hands. He gulps, sighs and tenses up. There’s an awkward silence in the air.

…I just want to express my gratitude towards the community for allowing me to come here today and for the goodwill that there’s … that I’ve experienced here so far. Uh … there were people that warned me that I mustn’t come here today. But despite those warnings, I have come here because I know it’s the right thing to do…

Mitchell tells his victims that the church will help them with their spiritual needs. But that’s not what the people of Trust Feed want to hear. He killed 11 of them and it’s payback time.

…I lost my husband, leaving me with so many children. Some of them have … have passed matric, but they cannot proceed with their education because of lack of … uh … support. I would like you, Mr Mitchell, to advise [us] as to how you are going to help in my situation…

Brian Mitchell cannot help them financially. He was recently fired from his job at Suncrush Coca-Cola in Ladysmith because of his past. "I can’t even help my wife and kids. How can I help you with money?" The Trust Feed community rumbles with unhappiness.

[A Zulu-speaking man tries to placate community members]

Brian Mitchell has other ideas in mind on how to help the victims of political violence at Trust Feed.

…I was led to understand that there are still a lot of people that left the area in 1988 that have not been allowed to resettle in this area. Uh … I think it’s important that we must get these people to be allowed to return to their land and to develop their land. And that … uh … there’s reconciliation between the political parties that were so divided in this area…

But some of Brian Mitchell’s victims aren’t ready to forgive him. Like Jabulisile Ngubane. Mitchell’s hit squad shot her mother, Sara Nyoka, several times. Ngubane is still upset that Mitchell has been granted amnesty, but now wants him to put his words into action. Other victims, though, thank him for his willingness to face his former enemies.

Brian Mitchell’s ordeal is over – at least for the day. Now he must help to change the broken lives of his victims into something meaningful. The community decides to form a committee to liaise with him. "For him to ask for forgiveness and for us to forgive him," say the people of Trust Feed, "isn’t enough."

["Woods"]

They became known as the Five Cops: Jack Cronje, Jacques Hechter, Paul van Vuuren, Wouter Mentz and Roelf Venter. Between them, they committed more than 60 gross violations of human rights while attached to Vlakplaas and the Northern Transvaal Security Branch in the late eighties. These included the murders of Dr Fabian and Florence Ribeiro in Mamelodi, Richard and Irene Motasi in Hammanskraal, as well as the killing of activists known as the KwaNdebele Nine and the Nietverdiend Ten. The public amnesty hearing of the Five Cops was one of the longest, stretching from October 1996 to March 1997. It was held in three cities and at six different venues, one of which was destroyed by fire. This hearing also presented the Amnesty Committee with a unique dilemma: Can amnesty be granted for amnesia and memory loss, such as in the abduction, interrogation, torture and killing of three men: Jackson Maake, Andrew Makupe and Harold Sefolo?

…Ons het [Harold] Sefolo ondervra op dieselfde wyse as die vorige twee [Jackson Maake en Andrew Makupe]. Tydens die ondervraging is ’n draagbare kragopwekker gebruik…

Paul van Vuuren

…Dit was ’n geel Robin-kragopwekker. Die kragopwekker stuur elektriese skokke…

We interrogated Harold Sefolo the same way as Jackson Maake and Andrew Makupe. We used a yellow, portable Robin generator to send electric shocks through his body and to force him to speak. There were two wires. One was attached to his foot and the other to his hand. When we put the generator on, his body was shocked stiff. Sefolo was a very strong man and believed in what he was doing. After he was interrogated, he admitted to being a senior ANC organiser in Witbank. He gave us even more information after Joe Mamasela shoved a knife up his nose. He was pleading for his life and asked if he could sing "Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika". Then he said we might as well kill him. After we shocked Maake to death, Mamasela covered his body with an ANC flag. Sefolo was still singing "Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika" when we shocked Makupe to death.

…Mamasela het ook ’n ANC…C vlag wat in die teenwoordigheid was oor Maake gegooi terwyl Sefolo "Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika" gesing het…

[Sings "Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika"]

…Edele, ons het die liggame … um … in die veiligheids-minibussie van die Veiligheidstak gelaai…

Your Honour, we put the bodies into the Security Branch minibus and drove it to a deserted road in Bophuthatswana. We put them on a landmine, set it alight and drove about 500 metres away to watch the explosion. The reason why we blew them up was to make it look as if they had planted the landmine.

…Dit moes lyk of hulle self ’n landmyn wou plant…

Brian Currin

…Do I understand you correctly when you say you have no personal recollection of the sequence of events that deal with this [amnesty] application?…

Jacques Hechter

…Meneer die voorsitter, dis baie moeilik…

Mr Chairman, it’s very difficult. Bits and pieces of this information started coming back to me in discussion with Warrant Officer Paul van Vuuren.

…Weer begin terugkom…

…Are you able, though, to remember that on a certain day in 1987, on a farm around Pienaarsrivier…

Bernard Ngoepe

…you electrocuted three people? You don’t remember that?…

…Die elektrokusie kan ek onthou nadat dit…

I can remember the electrocution, but only after it was told to me. I can more or less remember the specific place where it happened. It was on a farm. There was a gate. I remember the narrow dirt road. It’s a white, white chalk road. I can remember lots of trivialities. There were also guinea fowl. Those are the kind of things I can remember. But the actual serious deeds, I can’t remember them.

…I would have thought that you … you would remember…

…Ek … ek … ek vers…

…The killing of the three people…

…Ek verstaan … ek…

…As to the presence of some guinea fowls around that area?…

…Ek kan verstaan wat u probleem is. Ek … ek verstaan dit heeltemal. Dit klink ongelooflik, maar dit is hoekom…

I know it sounds unbelievable, but that’s why I say I remember trivialities.

…Sekere van daardie erger goed kan ek glad nie onthou nie…

["Woods"]

He was unknown to the Security Police at Vlakplaas near Pretoria until they were told to "make a plan" with him. Several banning orders, long days in detention and a spell on Robben Island had failed to break his spirit and crush his fight against apartheid. He was Griffiths Mxenge, the human rights lawyer who vigorously defended ANC comrades. So they abducted, stabbed and hammered him to death at Umlazi, south of Durban, in November 1981. Fifteen years later, in October 1996, three of Mxenge’s awaiting-trial murderers appeared before the Amnesty Committee in Durban. They were Dirk Coetzee, Almond Nofemela and David Tshikalanga. Although they had already broken their oath of silence on the apartheid government’s death-squads seven years earlier, they had never buried their skeletons. Angie Kapelianis and Dumisani Shange report.

…I … I don’t think I will ever be able to put it behind me because I’ll have to drag those corpses with me till the day I die. I will have to live with that, whether it’s in jail, whether it’s out of jail, I will have to live with that. That’s a problem for me and that I will have to face, but you’ve got to reap what you’ve sowed…

Dirk Coetzee is a product of apartheid Afrikanerdom. His dream is to be selected to an elite corps of the armed forces – the Security Police. And for this dream, he’s prepared to die and to kill. In August 1980, he arrives at a beautiful farm that now has a tainted past: Vlakplaas. This is where the Security Police convert freedom fighters into their very own soldiers, askaris. In just more than a year, Dirk Coetzee and his hit squad sow a trail of destruction and death for the apartheid government. One of the ghosts in that trail is Griffiths Mxenge.

…The decision was made by Brigadier [Jan] Van der Hoven from Port Natal Security Police and he told me that … uh … he was a thorn in the flesh [of the apartheid government] because he acted as instructing lawyer for all ANC cadres and … uh … he stuck by the law. So they couldn’t get to him. I never heard of the name before until that day when I was instructed to "make a plan" with Griffiths Mxenge. It means one thing only: Get rid of the guy, kill him. Nothing else, but murder him, kill him…

The oral instruction is specific: "Don’t kill him with a gun and don’t let him disappear."

…That was the instruction. Make it look like a robbery. So the only other way out was knives. Stab him. Rob some of his stuff or take some of his stuff to make it look like a robbery. I organised … uh … for the knives. I poisoned the meat for the dogs so that … to give them an option…

When Griffiths Mxenge wakes up to his screaming children, he finds his watchdogs squirming to death on chunks of meat that Dirk Coetzee has laced with strychnine. An ominous sign that leaves him on edge. But still he puts in a hard day’s work at his law firm. When he calls it a day, Durban is snugly wrapped in a blanket of mist and drizzle. Stranded in the road below his house is a grey bakkie with an open bonnet. And waiting for him are the askaris.

…Brian Ngqulunga was … was picked because he was the Zulu and knew the area and knew the language. An … an … and he’s dead. They killed him because he was on the verge, as it came out in the Gene [Eugene] de Kock trial, of wanting to spill the beans and support me. David Tshikalanga I’ve known since 1973. He worked for me and I helped him joining the police and he was on Vlakplaas. So a well-trusted guy. Almond Nofemela was a … a sober guy, a fit guy, a tiger if it comes to guts. If we’ve got to do something, Almond won’t hesitate. He’s got guts. And Joe Mamasela was the super-fit, killer instinct … uh … didn’t smoke, didn’t drink at all and … uh … if you look at that results that was left there, you could see a absolute killer. He just … he just never stops. I mean … uh … that’s same way with his … his … his gun…

At the Umlazi stadium, the pack pounces on Griffiths Mxenge. They tear into him viciously. With three okapi knives, a hunting knife and a wheel-spanner.

…Tshikalanga stabbed first and he couldn’t get the knife out of the chest of Mxenge…

…To tell the truth, I stabbed once by that knife which remained in the body and I was unable to remove it from the body…

David Tshikalanga

…I stabbed f… first in front of him…

…Then apparently Mxenge took the knife out himself and started chasing them with the … with the knife and that is apparently when Almond [Nofemela] knocked him down with the wheel-spanner and the stabbing frenzy started between Almond and Joe [Mamasela]…

Andrew Wilson

…Can you give any reason why he was stabbed so many times?…

Almond Nofemela

…The re… reason, I suspect, is that all the time he was not falling to the ground. He was fighting…

…He … he fought to save his own life, didn’t he?

That is correct, sir.

Did he have any weapon?

No, not that I know of.

Where were you in all this?

Drinking and driving around Durban. Partying and waiting for the rendezvous time to come up and meet them and say: "Is everything still okay? Nothing funny happened, uh? Okay." So one big party…

While they are feasting, Griffiths Mxenge’s wife is sick with worry. Victoria Mxenge even phones Brigadier Jan van der Hoven who’s been baying for her husband’s blood. He assures her that his men haven’t detained her husband. Then she finds Griffiths Mxenge’s corpse in the government mortuary. Forty-five lacerations and stab wounds pierce his body, lungs, liver and heart. His throat is slashed. His ears are practically cut off. And his stomach is ripped open. Victoria Mxenge fights back her tears and vows to see justice done. But she never does because she too is taken out four years later. Possibly by another hit squad.

Rudolf Jansen

…What is your present attitude towards what you did?

…An extreme mixed emotions of anger, deep-seated anger for allowing me to get involved with this nonsense. Uh … humiliation, embarrassment and a helplessness of a pathetic: I’m sorry for what I’ve done. What … what … what else can I offer them? A pathetic nothing. So, in all honesty, I don’t expect the Mxenge family to forgive me because I don’t know how I ever in my life would be able to forgive a man like Dirk Coetzee, if he’s done to me what I’ve done to them…

Dirk Coetzee is right. The Mxenge family cannot forgive him for what he and his askaris did to Griffiths Mxenge. The most senior family member is Mhleli Mxenge.

…I felt even more bitter because he does not show any signs of remorse. It is as if, you know, he … he … he really feels that he … it … it was an achievement to do what he did…

How do you expect him to show remorse?

In fact, I don’t expect remorse. In fact, I could answer that question if he has been to a court of law, if he has been convicted and charged, you know. I’m therefore totally opposed to granting of amnesty to Dirk Coetzee, [David] Tshikalanga and Almond Nofemela as this would be a travesty of justice…

Shortly after Dirk Coetzee, Almond Nofemela and David Tshikalanga testify for amnesty, KwaZulu-Natal Attorney General Tim McNally drags them to court. There, they are found guilty of murdering Griffiths Mxenge. But three days before sentencing, on the 4^th of August 1997, truth defeats justice. Dirk Coetzee, Almond Nofemela and David Tshikalanga get amnesty and breathe a huge sigh of relief for now.

["Woods"]

…Drops were administered to Sizwe Kondile in a drink. And the reason why the knock-out drops was administered is because I don’t think any sober guy would have had the … the courage to just look a normal person in the eye, sober, and shoot him at point-blank in the head…

Dirk Coetzee

…One of Major Archie Flemington’s men took a Makarov pistol with a silencer on and whilst Mr Kondile was lying on his back, shot him on top of the head. There was a short jerk and that was it. The four junior, non-commissioned officers – Paul van Dyk, Sergeant Jan from Colonel Nic van Rensburg’s branch and the two Ermelo man – each grabbed a hand and a foot, put it on to the pyre of tyre and wood, poured petrol on it and set it alight. Whilst that happened, we were drinking and even having a braai next to the fire…

[Expresses shock]

…Now that I don’t say to show our braveness, I just … uh … shh… tell it to the commission to show the … the callousness of it and to what extremes we have gone in those days. And the body takes about seven hours to … to burn to ashes completely and the chunks of meat, especially the … the … the buttocks and the upper parts of the legs, had to be turned frequently during the night to make sure that everything burnt to ashes. And the next morning, after raking through the rubble to make sure that there was no big pieces of … uh … meat or bone left at all, we all went our own way…

["Woods"]

One of South Africa’s most sacrilegious violations of human rights was the July 1993 rifle and grenade attack on the St James Church in Cape Town. Eleven parishioners were killed and about 60 others seriously injured or maimed for life. Three of the men responsible for the Sunday massacre were Apla cadres: Khaya Makoma, Bassie Mkhumbuzi and Thobela Mlambisa. In July 1997, they publicly told the Amnesty Committee that they had simply been following orders. Their attack was meant to shock and force the white government into returning the land to the Africans. After the Amnesty Committee reconciled their side of the story with the law, they were granted amnesty in June 1998. But a rare and unforgettable moment in that story was written by an unlikely protagonist, who decided to make reconciliation a public reality. Zola Ntutu, Darren Taylor and Angie Kapelianis report.

Dawie Ackerman is a born-again Christian who vividly remembers the attack on his church on the 25^th of July 1993. He and his wife are sitting separately in a large group of visiting Russian sailors when the church doors burst open to silence their singing.

…It all happened very quickly. My ears were zinging from the gunshots and then especially from the two grenade explosions. I was afraid. I had visions of the attackers walking up the aisle and shooting the people between the benches as they were lying down…

But Dawie Ackerman’s main concern in the minute that seems to last forever is for his wife. To get to her near the church entrance, he has to walk over three dead Russians in what he describes as "a bloody mess".

…There were people screaming. But immediately after the attack, it was as if a deathly silence settled on the church. I went forward to my wife and saw her still sitting upright, thought that she might have survived, but she had not…

Dawie Ackerman says the St James Church massacre has stunted him emotionally. He should be angry with his wife’s killers. Instead, his family has become the target of his anger. "We fight about stupid things," he says.

…I’ve never cried over the death of my wife. Other than have silent cries. But I’ve never had a emotional crying outburst. While Mr [Khaya] Makoma was testifying and he talked about his tortures and that he was suicidal, I could identify with that. And I wrote you a note to bring your cross-examination to an end because what are we doing here? The truth, yes. But I … I looked at the way in which he answered you and his anger. How on earth are we going to be reconciled?…

Dawie Ackerman captures the two pillars of this process. Truth and reconciliation. As a victim, he wants the truth to the unanswered questions about his wife’s death. As a Christian, he has to reconcile with her murderers.

…I for one couldn’t stay away from, in the immediate days following the massacre, to return to where my … my wife had been shot. It was … it’s … a release to me to go there and to be where she was killed. And as the time unfolded and the Truth Commission started up and I heard the testimonies of my fellow black South Africans who had been subjected to the treatment that they had, and parents and mothers, brothers asked: "Where is my son?" "Where is my father?" And because I know the … the value of going back to the place where it happened, I appeal to the agents of the government to come forward and to identify what they’ve done and where they did it. At least give them also the opportunity to grieve where it happened…

The grieving takes place in the amnesty arena. Khaya Makoma, Bassie Mkhumbuzi and Thobela Mlambisa sit in a row facing the committee. Dawie Ackerman sits right behind them – an arm’s length away. Without any warning, he breaks all the conventional rules of mediation between victim and perpetrator.

…May I ask the applicants to turn around and to face me? This is the first opportunity that we’ve had to look at each other in the eye. I want to ask Mr [Khaya] Makoma who actually entered the church. My wife was sitting right at the door where you came in. She was wearing a long blue coat. Can you remember if you shot her?

I do remember that I fired some shots. But I couldn’t identify [anyone]. I don’t know whom did I shoot or not, but my gun pointed at the people…

It is important for me to know if it is possible. As much as it is important for your people who suffered to know who killed. I don’t know why it is so important for me, it … it just is…

The moment is frozen in time. They continue as though no one exists.

…I would like to hear from each one of you, as you look me in the face, that you are sorry for what you’ve done. That you regret it and that you want to be personally reconciled.

We are sorry for what we have done. Although people died during that struggle, we didn’t do that out of our own will. It’s the situation that we were living under. We are asking from you, please do forgive us.

[Claps slightly]

I want you to know that I forgive you unconditionally.

Dawie Ackerman forgives them even though he doesn’t know if they have been totally honest with him. "Maybe there is more," he says. Or maybe he just wants to hear more. No one says a word. There’s just this strange silence.

Surviving victims of gross human rights abuses continued to steer the Truth Commission’s Amnesty Committee into uncharted territory in mid-July 1997. Until then, the amnesty script was predominantly couched in legalities, with only judges and lawyers jogging the memories of both perpetrator and victim. But all this changed during the amnesty hearing of former Western Cape security policeman Captain Jeff Benzien, the man whose name sent shivers down the spines of young freedom fighters, and whose name became synonymous with the "wet bag" and sadistic torture. Antjie Samuel and Kenneth Makatees report.

…Eerstens, vra ek verskoning vir enige persoon/persone wat ek benadeel en/of leed aangedoen het…

Jeff Benzien prefaces his amnesty hearing with an Afrikaans apology to every person he has harmed and injured. Even those he can’t remember. But he hasn’t forgotten Tony Yengeni, Peter Jacobs, Ashley Forbes, Gary Kruser and Niclo Pedro – a handful of freedom fighters he has violated. ANC Member of Parliament Tony Yengeni musters up the courage to question Benzien first.

…Now when we got to Culenborg [unclear] police station, do you remember then what happened?

I know that I interrogated you and I placed the wet bag over your head and I smothered you…

The bag in question is black in colour. A bag that Benzien refines as his tool of torture. A bag that Yengeni never forgets.

…What … what kind of man uses a method like this one of the wet bag to other human beings repeatedly and listening to those moans and cries and groans and taking each of those people very near to their deaths? What kind of man are you? I’m talking about the man behind the wet bag?

Mr Yengeni, I … I, Jeff Benzien, have asked myself that question to such an extent that I voluntary, and it is not easy for me to say this with a lot of people who do not know me, approached psychiatrists to find out what … what type of person am I…

Tony Yengeni has more than just interrogation in mind. He wants Benzien to show him, the comrades he betrayed and the world why he cracked.

…Commissioners, it was a cloth bag that would be submerged in water and then the way I applied it was I’d get the person to lie down on the ground, on his stomach normally, with that person’s hands handcuffed behind his back. Then I would take up a position in the small of the person’s back, put my f… feet through between his arms and then pull the bag over the person’s head and … uh … twist it closed round the neck, in that way cutting off the air supply to the person…

But Yengeni insists on putting a picture to Benzien’s halting explanation. "You’re going to need a volunteer to play the part of the victim then," says Judge Andrew Wilson. ANC Youth League member Mcebisi Sikhwatsha volunteers. "But what are you going to use for the black bag?" asks Amnesty Committee member Sisi Khampepe. "A blue pillow-slip," replies Yengeni. "But I don’t have handcuffs and I’m not as agile as I used to be," mutters Benzien. Judge Hassen Mall ignores his plea and directs the public performance.

The amnesty panel stands to watch the bizarre drama. Cameras click and capture another first. Everyone else stares. Some wonder how they can feel compassion for a man they should hate. What will his family say about this sexually loaded image? Tony Yengeni strokes his throat.

…How did I react and respond to the bag?

I know that after the method was applied, you did take us to the house of Jennifer Schreiner, where we took out a lot of limpet mines, hand grenades and firearms…

Softly spoken Ashley Forbes is the only Section 29 detainee who Jeff Benzien practically lived with for six months. "Do you remember how you said I taught you to smoke?" asks Benzien. "How we travelled throughout the country? Do you remember saying that you had never had so much Kentucky Fried Chicken? How you played in the snow for the first time on the N-1 highway? Do you remember that I brought you westerns and fresh fruit on Sundays?" Ashley Forbes remembers, but refuses to let Benzien play with his mind.

…Do you remember that when the wet bag method is used that my pants was pulled towards my ankles?

I cannot remember it specifically, but I may concede, yes.

Can I then also just ask if you remember that while I was laying on the ground that somebody inserted a metal rod into my anus and shocked me?

No, sir. As heinous as it may sound, I used an electric generator on one person, on Peter Jacobs, not on you…

Benzien’s bloated face glistens with sweat. His eyes are bloodshot and the bags under his eyes black.

Peter Jacobs is allegedly the first freedom fighter that Benzien ever tortures. He stutters and asks the Amnesty Committee to be patient with him.

…At some point you added electric shocks to me. Where did you add those shocks? In which parts of my body, to be more clear?

If I said to Mr Jacobs, I put the electrodes in his nose, I may be wrong. If I said I attached it to his genitals, I may be wrong. If I put a probe into his rectum, I may be wrong.

Can I possibly…

Did you during your service used all three methods?

In the case of Mr Jacobs, yes, sir…

"I was prepared to do anything short of killing you," says Benzien. "You just laughed at us and refused to sing like a bird."

…I think it’s about the fourth time, when I thought I’m dying, you woke me up and you said: "Peter, I’ll take you to the verge of death as many times as I want to, but here you’re going to talk, and if it means then you’ll die, that is okay." Do you remember that?

I concede I may have said that, sir.

But I want you to know, I want you to tell me, because this is important for me. Did you say that?

Yes, I did say that…

A lingering image of the lengths to which Benzien was prepared to go is the experience of Niclo Pedro – what lawyer Michael Donen describes as an addition to the torturer’s repertoire. When the Aliwal North Security Police arrest Pedro at the Lesotho border, he allegedly swallows a piece of paper with the name of a contact. Benzien wants that name. So he takes Pedro to the toilet where he shoves a stick into his anus, saying: "I’ll get that note out of your stomach."

…It is a lie about the stick in his anus. What I really wanted was the unpleasant task of him to squat on a piece of newspaper to pass the stool when necessary.

Did he do that?

I think he did, yes.

Well, what did you do? Did you do anything?

The faeces was examined by me.

In his presence?

In his presence…

Borders blur. And all that haunts the nation is the wet bag. The fragile, but courageous interaction. The victim in the perpetrator. And the lasting wounds.

["Woods"]

One incident that pushed South Africa to the brink of anarchy was the assassination of Communist Party leader Chris Hani. Millions loved him for his role in the ANC’s armed wing, his militant speeches against white supremacy and his promise to uplift the poor. For these same reasons, apartheid supporters detested him. And on the 10^th of April 1993, he was dead. Polish right-winger Janusz Walus and Conservative Party member Clive Derby-Lewis were sentenced to death, later commuted to life imprisonment, for murdering Chris Hani. When Derby-Lewis and Walus testified for amnesty in June and August 1997, they were forced to explain why they had gunned down the man who called for peace only four days before his death. Angie Kapelianis, Darren Taylor and Antjie Samuel report on the amnesty hearing that could become a test case for reconciliation.

…And I can’t accept peoples calling for war. I mean, I don’t accept what the PAC’s saying about a year of great storms…

Chris Hani

…because I feel that we have achieved something in this country where those who have oppressed us in the past are actually talking to us and are showing readiness to negotiate for democratic elections…

…The man doing the shooting must have perhaps got out of his car and fired shots at close range…

Frans Malherbe

…I’m unfortunate to announce that Mr Hani has … has been killed instantly…

…The Chris Hani who lies in his driveway today, dead…

Tokyo Sexwale

…he was a revolutionary. But Chris died for peace. How shall we convince people?…

[Sings "Hamba kahle"]

Eugene Terre’Blanche

[Sings "Hamba kahle"]

…’n Moordenaar is vermoor deur Janusz Walus!…

[Cheers]

Janusz Walus has murdered a murderer! I don’t approve of assassinations, but Chris Hani was a Communist! If he were still alive to steal my fatherland, I may have had to kill him myself!

…dalk self moes doodmaak op die slagveld oor die loop van ’n geweer!…

[Sings "Hamba kahle"]

…Chris is not dead. Chris Hani is alive. Long live his memory! Long live!

Long live!

Long live the spirit of Chris Hani! Long live! Amandla!…

[Sings "Hamba kahle"]

[Sing and toyi-toyi]

On one side of the hall, Communist Party supporters erupt and call for "the dogs" to take the stand. On the other side, grim-faced right-wingers look ahead and ignore everything that is black. Old women knit with picnic baskets and coffee flasks at the ready, seemingly oblivious to the crescendo of sound. One of them even gives a basket of koeksisters to Clive Derby-Lewis, the English-speaking South African of Scottish and German descent who insists he’s an Afrikaner.

…Wie is die Afrikanervolk?…

Who is the Afrikaner volk? I am the Afrikaner nation!

…I am not a racist. I do not hate … uh … black people. I don’t hate anybody. But I’m very proud of the fact, Mr Chairman, that I’m an Afrikaner and I love my people.

Yes, we … we hear you. Thank you…

[Clap]

…Thank you, Mr Chairman. It was obvious to us that the late Chris Hani, as the leader of the Communist Party, was the real threat to our future and that of the Republic of South Africa. We as Christians are told that it is our duty to fight the Antichrist in whichever way we can. And, Mr Chairman, to say that Mr Hani was a man of peace in view of what he was doing, uh … I find absolutely mind-boggling…

…We want to cultivate a culture of tolerance, a culture of not fighting those you disagree with because those people are not our enemies…

…Did you hand to Mr Walus a … a pistol?

Yes, I did, Mr Chairman.

Mr Derby-Lewis, when you gave that pistol to Mr Walus, did you know he would use that to assassinate Mr Hani?

Yes, Mr Chairman. Perhaps it was even a … a tribute to the status of Chris Hani that he was selected as a target…

Mr Derby-Lewis, have you lost touch with reality, sir?…

Advocate George Bizos represents the Hani family. Bizos says Clive Derby-Lewis can’t get amnesty because his motive for killing the Communist Party leader was pure racial hatred. And he still can’t stand the thought of being governed by a black man. Derby-Lewis hates blacks so much, says Bizos, that he even refuses to pray with them.

…The church is unashamedly racist and only whites are allowed to be members…

…Mr Chairman, that’s the opinion of the writer of that report.

Well, let’s take the opinion away from the fact. Has it got any black members?

No, it does not, Mr Chairman…

[Laughs, cheers and applauds loudly]

Derby-Lewis is quoted as saying that South Africa is overpopulated because "black people like to make babies".

…And it is a fact that black people like to have babies. Mr Chairman, is that not a fact?

[Boos and claps]

Mr Chairman, with … with respect, I don’t see anything wrong with that fact. In fact, I would like to have many more babies.

[Murmurs]

Despite the humour that Derby-Lewis inspires, everyone is tired of listening to the politician. They want to hear the blond Polish assassin with the cold, steel-blue eyes. Janusz Walus, the man who pumped four bullets into their leader, finally speaks.

[Sing, toyi-toyi and clap]

…So help me God. Everything what I will say here will be truth only, and the only truth, so help me God. I emigrate into South Africa mainly because I wanted to run away from the Communist system, which was in Poland at that time, Mr Chairman…

Janusz Walus tells how he came to hate Communists and everything they stand for. The amnesty audience is silent for the first time.

…My late father had to start from scratch at least six times after his business was closed down for the sole reason that it was too prosperous. I was constantly harassed while making deliveries of goods…

But when Janusz Walus arrives in South Africa, he finds Communists here, too. So he joins the right wing, paranoid at the prospect of Communist rule in his new country. While the National Party negotiates with the ANC, Walus and Clive Derby-Lewis agree something radical must be done to plunge the country into chaos, to stop the negotiations and to stop the Communists from taking over. Walus reconnoitres Hani’s home in Boksburg on the East Rand. On Easter Saturday, he watches Hani return from the shop with a newspaper and park in the driveway.

…Mr Hani got out from the car. I got out from my car. I didn’t want to shoot him at the back. I called: "Pani Hani, Mr Hani." When Mr Hani turned, I took out the pistol and I shot first time in the body. Mr Hani turned. I shot a second shot in his head. When he f… fell on the ground, I shot two times behind his ear…

Both amnesty applicants explain how they killed Chris Hani in almost as clinical a fashion as the murder itself. And they express no regret, no remorse.

…Mr Chairman, no, how can I ever apologise for a act of war. War is war…

[Expresses anger]

I’m … I haven’t heard the ANC…

…Everything I done, I done it because I believe in the cause. And I still believe in that cause…

["Woods"]

The Truth Commission was a bitter pill to swallow for the family of black consciousness leader Steve Bantu Biko. But it was even harder for them to accept when five former security policemen applied for amnesty in 1997 for "causing" Biko’s death 20 years earlier. It seemed as if Biko’s killers would finally tell the truth about how he suffered brain damage and died in detention. But when they appeared before the Amnesty Committee in September and December 1997, they again denied "killing" Biko. Harold Snyman, Daantjie Siebert, Rubin Marx, Johan Beneke and Gideon Nieuwoudt maintained that Biko’s death was an "accident" for which he had been partly responsible. Darren Taylor and Zola Ntutu report.

[Sing] Let us seek and strive for freedom in South Africa, our land…

[Cheers and whistles]

…Amandla! Awethu!…

…Inspire with your heavenly wisdom all those who are to lead us as we remember with thanksgiving your son, Steve Biko, on the twentieth anniversary of his death. The time has come. The moment of truth has arrived…

[Roars as band strikes up]

…We don’t believe, for instance, in the so-called guarantees for minority rights…

Steve Biko

…because guaranteeing minority rights implies the revolution of portions of the community on a race basis. We believe that in our country there shall be no minority, there shall be no majority, there shall just be people. And those people will have … uh … the same status before the law. And they will have the same political rights … uh … before the law. So, in a sense, it will be a completely non-racial, egalitarian society…

This is Steve Biko’s dream in 1977. Twenty years later, the whole country wants the truth, from the mouths of the security policemen who interrogated Biko in Room 619 of the Security Branch headquarters in Port Elizabeth. Advocate George Bizos remembers saying: "As Your Worship pleases," when the inquest magistrate absolved the Security Police in 1978 of Biko’s death.

…When the ruling was made, there was hardly anything more than we could do other than to advise the deceased’s relatives that perhaps one day the truth will come out…

For the Biko family, that day arrives on the 10^th of September 1997 when amnesty applicant Colonel Harold Snyman takes the stand.

…Sy … sy optrede, u edele, was weerbarstig en uitdagend en het aggressief voorgekom…

Snyman describes Biko as stubborn, defiant and aggressive. Biko refuses to answer any questions. "Stand up!" screams Brigadier Daantjie Siebert, grabbing Biko by the collar.

…Toe het daar van sy kant af ook vuishoue na ons toe uitgedeel…

He was also trading punches with us. We tried to restrain him, but in the process we also punched him.

…In die proses het ons ook enkele houe na hom geslaan…

…I went into my room and pray. "Oh Lord, what is wrong now? What had happened to my child?"…

Mamcete Biko

…Mmm. They knock. And I come out. "Where’s Steve?" "I don’t know."…

…Let me tell you and the whole world…

Khaya Biko

…that my brother was persecuted for 13 days before he died. It’s not a matter of hit-and-run like … like somebody being shot…

…Ek het vinnig vorentoe beweeg…

Johan Beneke

…meneer Biko se…

I moved forward quickly. I grabbed Mr Biko’s arm with which he was lashing out at us. I shoved him in the chest with my left shoulder. I wanted to prevent him from assaulting Captain Siebert.

…Ek wou verhoed dat hy kaptein Siebert aanrand…

…Edelagbare, sy kop het beslis, volgens my mening, teen die muur gestamp. Ek het dit gesien…

Your Honour, he definitely hit his head against the wall. I saw it. He could also have hit his head when he fell to the ground.

…Ek het toe gemerk dat…

I noticed that the deceased seemed to be in a state of unconsciousness because he was disorientated. He had a dazed look in his eyes.

…disgeoriënteerd. Sy oë was ook vir my verward…

…His head injuries had caused him to become incontinent. Was he taken to the toilet at any stage?

He was not fully conscious and he … he wasn’t taken…

When the doctor did come, his clothes and his blankets were soaked with urine. May I suggest to you that it is evidence of utter contempt of … uh … Mr Biko as a human being…

["Biko"]

…and clear hatred!…

["Biko"]

For two days, the police chain the unconscious Biko by his hands and feet to a steel grille. Then they load him naked into the back of a Land Rover and drive him 1 200 kilometres to Pretoria Central Prison. Biko speaks like a baby, foams at the mouth, slurs and is dead on the 12^th of September 1977. And still amnesty applicant Rubin Marx maintains that he didn’t mean to harm Biko.

…If you feel that you’ve done nothing wrong, is it really necessary for you to apply for amnesty?

Frankly, I think it’s not necessary…

…"I killed Biko! You won’t get away from me!" That was your standard opening remark in relation to detainees, Mr Siebert!

U edele, met…

Your Honour, with the greatest contempt, that’s a lie! Wait. That’s not even a lie. It’s a blatant lie!

…He was allowed to rot in a cell, naked and ill treated, and he came to the room. And he was beaten as a result of which he died. Those are the facts. Before they get amnesty, they’ve got to say who inflicted the fatal blow. They have evaded it. They covered it up then at the inquest. They are covering it up now…

["Woods"]

They became known as the Cradock Four: Matthew Goniwe, Fort Calata, Sparrow Mkhonto and Sicelo Mhlauli. On the 27th of June 1985, these four men left the small Eastern Cape town of Cradock for a meeting of the United Democratic Front in Port Elizabeth. A few days later, their mutilated and charred bodies were found in the bush outside the city. Convicted Vlakplaas commander Colonel Eugene de Kock recalled that Goniwe’s death was "the beginning of the end of apartheid". "Who killed Matthew Goniwe?" was a constant refrain for 13 years until February 1998, when a group of former security policemen finally stepped forward and said: "We killed the Cradock Four." Zola Ntutu, Darren Taylor and Thapelo Mokushane report.

It’s midnight in the deserted Olifantskop mountain pass halfway between Port Elizabeth and Cradock. The four friends are supposed to sleep over in Port Elizabeth. But Matthew Goniwe and Fort Calata haven’t seen their loved ones in a long time. They have been organising South Africa’s first black boycott of white businesses. Suddenly, a car with a flashing blue light forces them to stop. A voice shouts: "Police! We want to question you!" The four men are handcuffed and bundled into vehicles.

…We knew Fort and we certainly knew Matthew were targets and there’d been many death threats…

Derrick Swartz

…against at least Matthew and I … I know maybe one or two occasions Fort as well…

…The chief … uh … enemy that they were after, as revealed in the inquest, was Mr Goniwe…

Gili Skweyiya

…and Mr Calata. They hated them with a passion…

The police death-squad drives the four into the bush next to the sea and sand dunes at St George’s Strand. The killers tell the hushed audience in Port Elizabeth: "Sparrow Mkhonto was the first to die."

…More than anything else, the community wants to know exactly what happened that evening. Why did Sparrow Mkhonto, for instance, have a bullet wound?…

Sakkie van Zyl

…Hy het nie sy greep verslap nie. Dit was baie vinnig. Dit was baie instinktief…

Sparrow Mkhonto wouldn’t slacken his grip. It happened very fast. It was very instinctive.

…Hy het my gelos en…

Captain Sakkie van Zyl takes Mkhonto into the bush. Death is near. Even though Mkhonto is handcuffed, he grabs the policeman around the neck and fights for his life.

…Ek het hom een skoot geskiet oor my skouer sonder dat ek…

I fired one shot over my shoulder without seeing where I actually hit him. He let go of me and I pushed his hands over my head. I then pulled him out of the car, threw him on to the ground and immediately shot him in the back of the head.

…in sy agterkop…

But Van Zyl’s order is to stab and not shoot the activists so that it looks like a vigilante attack. Van Zyl is in a fix, so he asks three black colleagues to do the dirty work.

…Ek het vir Faku gesê dat ons hom met ’n mes sal moet steek…

I told Sergeant Amos Faku that we would have to stab Mkhonto. Mr Faku and the two other black members stabbed the corpse with a knife or knives. They then took petrol out of my car, poured it over the body and set it alight.

…en dit aan die brand gesteek…

Sakkie van Zyl says Faku, Warrant Officer Glen Mgoduka and askari Xolile Sakati then stabbed Sicelo Mhlauli to death. But before they burn Mhlauli’s body, they hack off one of his hands. "This was the only way they could get the handcuffs off," explains Van Zyl. Several victims of human rights abuses have testified that the Security Police later displayed what they call "the baboon’s hand" in a bottle at their Port Elizabeth headquarters. Van Zyl tells Major Eric Taylor to do his bit for the war against the "dark forces of Communism".

…Ek het … uh … meneer Calata…

Eric Taylor

…ook van agter af geslaan met hierdie ystervoorwerp min of meer…

I … uh … also hit Mr Fort Calata from the back with this iron object, more or less where the neck joins the head. He fell down and I was under the impression that he was unconscious. The black members then stabbed him with knives.

…deur die ander lede, die swart lede, uh … met messe gesteek…

…I don’t think I will ever, ever forgive them…

Nomonde Calata

…Even if they can get amnesty or not. But I won’t forgive them because last time when I met Taylor, I don’t think he was telling the truth. He was far away from telling the truth…

Shortly before the amnesty hearing, Nomonde Calata meets the man who murdered her husband at a Dutch Reformed Church in Port Elizabeth. "Eric Taylor was sobbing," says Calata.

…Dit was werklik ’n behoefte wat net begin ontstaan het…

The need to meet Mrs Calata really stemmed from a Christian point of view. I don’t think amnesty was more important to me than reconciliation at that stage. I was very emotional. I think it’s an experience that will stay with me for a very long time.

…seker vir ’n baie lang tyd sal bybly…

…Well, he was expecting me to say I forgive him. But I did not say that. I was terribly hurt when I saw him. I was angry! Uh … I felt like somebody who was for the first time hearing the news of my husband. And I thought he was a very hard person. He waited for the right time to come out so that he can get forgiveness. From me? Yet he had let me suffered for so long with these children of mine. I can’t forget Mr Taylor. I can’t forget anyone. I can’t forgive them…

Sakkie van Zyl leaves it to Warrant Officer Gert Lotz to kill Matthew Goniwe.

…Terwyl die persoon voor my uit geloop het, het ek hom met die veer van agter af oor die kop geslaan…

While Matthew Goniwe was walking in front of me, I hit him on the back of the head with a piece of iron. He appeared to be unconscious or dead and wasn’t moving. The black members then stabbed him with knives. I’m sure the family hates me for what I did.

…sal die familie my ook haat oor dit wat ek gedoen het…

…Oooohh. I … I don’t know. I … I don’t want to use the word "hate". It’s a heavy word. It’s a terrible word…

The Cradock Four widows understand why their husbands were killed. They wanted to overthrow apartheid. But what they can’t accept is the way in which the amnesty applicants murdered them. And the lasting image of their husbands is four mutilated and burnt bodies.

…Do you agree that the 63 stab wounds is evidence of barbaric conduct?

Uh … Mr Chairman, in retrospect, absolutely. [The] instruction was that this killing should look like a vigilante attack. A more humane way of doing it would not have had the same effect.

Does your answer mean that you were prepared to behave like a savage barbarian in order to mislead anyone that bothered to investigate the murders that you had committed?

Yes, Mr Chairman…

["Woods"]

The ANC and its military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe, bombed various places in South Africa in the 1980s. The late ANC president, Oliver Tambo, better known as "OR", had formed the Special Operations Unit to take the liberation struggle to the white areas of the country. The apartheid government seized on these explosions as proof of the ANC’s "terrorist" campaign to maim and murder innocent white civilians. These, it believed, were in a different league from Defence Force raids into the frontline states that often killed black women and children. In May 1998, former MK [Umkhonto we Sizwe] Commissar Aboobaker Ismail and some of his cadres sought amnesty for bombings that had killed 30 people and injured 350 others. Andries Sathekge and Darren Taylor report.

…In 1961, with the declaration of the republic, we were given a flag, a medallion and sweets at school to commemorate Republic Day. My father took these off us and threw them into the fire. He had called all the children together and told us that we were never to wave these flags for a racist country, to eat the sweets or to have anything to do with those objects. This was the start of my political consciousness…

Aboobaker Ismail is seven years old when he starts thinking about apartheid. Gazing through the bus window on his way to school, Ismail wonders: Why do black people live in Soweto and we live in Vrededorp? His father then tells him about the National Party, its policies and the evil of racism. But it is only in 1969 when activist Ahmed Timol dies in police detention that Aboobaker Ismail puts his growing consciousness into action. He starts distributing ANC pamphlets illegally. The police detain and viciously assault him. When they finally let him go, they don’t realise they have freed a man with a new vision.

…The whites should come out of their comfort zones. They should no longer be able to enjoy the fruits of apartheid. They should also feel the pain, to have an understanding of the s… pain and suffering of the black people as well…

Ismail receives military training in East Germany. Explosives become his speciality. He and Joe Slovo later make up MK’s command structure. While the South African security forces raid what the apartheid government calls "ANC bases" in neighbouring countries, Ismail pledges to put himself through what Oliver Tambo calls the terrible, but cleansing fires of revolution.

…Comrade Slovo and I, after getting the report on the South African Air Force headquarters, had agreed that this would be a legitimate target and had agreed that an operation undertaken at the right time of the day would strike overwhelmingly at military personnel outside a military target. On May the 20^th 1983, a car bomb exploded outside the South African Air Force headquarters in Church Street, Pretoria. Nineteen people were killed, including 11 Air Force officers. The two cadres, comrades Freddy Shongwe and Ezekiel Maseko, who planted the bomb, were killed in the operation…

The right wing in South Africa still regards the Church Street bombing as the worst atrocity that the ANC ever committed in the name of the struggle. Ismail and his cadres’ car bomb injured and maimed 217 people, black and white civilians. Immediately before Ismail takes the stand to testify for amnesty in Pretoria, right-wingers display photos of the aftermath: severed limbs, faces torn by flying glass and blood flowing down the gutters of the city centre street.

…I regret the deaths of innocent civilians killed in the cause of the fight for justice and freedom. In the course of a war, life is lost. The injury to and the loss of life of innocent civilians sometimes becomes inevitable…

But Ismail insists on echoing the words of his political masters and occupying what they call the moral high-ground. "We fought a just war for a just cause against white supremacy."

…I am proud of the bravery, discipline and selfless sacrifices of the cadres of the Special Operations Units who operated under my command. Many of them laid down their lives in the pursuit of freedom for all in South Africa…

Not many of Ismail’s victims are present to listen to the man who blew apart their lives. Advocate Louis Visser represents those who are. He snaps at Ismail. "You weren’t brave. You were cowards. How can you bomb a military building in the middle of the city, knowing all along you will kill innocent people?" Ismail remains steadfast.

…Those people there were all part of the military machine. A soldier is a soldier! The soldiers were there to protect and defend that apartheid state.

You see, Mr Ismail, from the point of view of the victims, they find it hard to understand how they could have been part of what was identified as a military machine when some of them were mere typists, telephonists, people who worked with books. What do you say to them?

No military machine will work without all these administrative people as well. They are legitimate targets!

Visser glares and Ismail spits: "In World War Two, the Allies bombed cities. Were they tried? No! They were considered victors over the Nazi beast!"

…When you fight, what do you do? You kill people! The military is the military. They were targets!

And you wanted to kill as many of them as possible, that much is clear.

Absolutely, certainly!

Yes.

They tried to kill as many of us!

You planned the Church Street bomb to kill as many people as possible and you weren’t concerned with the fact that you were in fact hitting a soft target. So…

We struck where we could strike.

So you engaged in a terrorist war?

No, we were not engaged in a terrorist war! Terrorism is state terrorism that was in this country that struck at the people of this country! Terrorism is when the state forces went and killed those children at Soweto!

Yes.

When members of the Defence Force and the police aimed and fired at schoolchildren, then were they being "terrorist"? We aimed at military personnel…

["Woods"]

The media painted him as the arch-villain of the apartheid era and labelled him "Prime Evil". The Truth Commission singled him out as the man who broke the code of silence and forced security policemen to seek amnesty. He was Eugene de Kock, former commander of the Vlakplaas death squad, convicted murderer serving two life sentences and 212 years in jail for apartheid crimes, and amnesty applicant who helped convict former president PW Botha for contempt of the Truth Commission. Eugene de Kock waged war against liberation movements in Namibia, Zimbabwe and Angola in the seventies and eighties. When he returned home to fight the ANC, he said: "My war is only just starting." At Vlakplaas, the colonel led his men from the front. At various amnesty hearings, the prisoner still refused to abandon them. But for his former masters, the politicians and the generals, Eugene de Kock had only bitter venom.

…Dit was ’n baie ongenaakbare en koelbloedige sisteem … uh…

It was a very unapproachable and cold-blooded system. Let’s make no mistake about that. You were either an ally or the enemy. If you were the enemy, you could expect your life span to be extremely short.

…Your life span is maar kort. Nie een polisieman of lid van die Weermag was ooit…

Not one policeman or soldier was ever given a white flag. We were never taught how to give ourselves up. As I understood it, it was a fight to the bitter end. There could be only one winner.

…Daar kan net een wenner wees. Uit die aard van die saak, die persone wat…

The men based at Vlakplaas were there to fight. We didn’t have a gang-pressing system to recruit them. We actually had to keep them away.

…mense op Vlakplaas te kry nie. Jy moes mense weghou. En ek wil dit vandag vir eens en vir altyd net regstel…

I want to say this once and for all. Vlakplaas was not a rogue unit. If it had been rogue, I would have developed the atom bomb myself. And probably would have used it, too.

…Dan sou ek die atoombom ontwikkel het en hom heel waarskynlik gebruik het ook. Ek kan vir u verseker…

I can assure you, it was a world with a thousand shades of grey.

…’n Duisend skakerings van grys was…

…Wat was u geestesinstelling…

How did you feel when you heard that the generals were selling you out?

…te doen gehad het?

Dis totale…

It was total betrayal, Chairperson.

Dit moes u op daai stadium baie verstaanbaar…

It must have made you extremely bitter, Mr De Kock.

…en u is nog steeds bitter vandag…

Dit het my nie bitter…

It didn’t make me bitter. I felt like vomiting.

Let’s not play with words.

Ek speel nie met woorde nie. Ek…

I’m not playing with words. I mean what I say. I can speak Afrikaans…

[Laughs and claps]

Ja…

[Laughs and claps]

Ek gaan byvoorbeeld twee name hier noem en die…

I want to mention two names. The one is General Johan Coetzee and the other is FW de Klerk. They should be put against the wall today. Not only did they mislead people, but they ran away at the first sign of problems. They sold out the white population, except for their own elite group.

…groepie van een of twee persent van hulle eie mense. Baie van dié wat … wat … uh … hierdie bevele…

Many of those who gave the orders have never had to live with the fact that they actually pulled the trigger. And that suited them. But to pull the trigger yourself, to stand there, to see the person yourself and then to go home at night and act normally, in a normal society, that’s a major struggle.

…in ’n normale sosiale samelewing, is ’n stryd. Dit het hulle daarbo nie geweet wat op die grond…

Those at the top didn’t really know what was happening on the ground. They used to sit in the comfort of their air conditioners, work out their pensions and drink glasses of red wine, while we had to lie in the snot and hair and blood in the dust.

…Laat daar geen haat wees nie. Laat daar geen nyd wees nie. Laat daar geen vingerwysings wees nie…

Let there be no hate, no spite, no finger pointing. And let there be no thoughts of revenge. Time will heal all. When my sons were barely old enough to understand, I told them: "You must rise above this. You can either be an eagle or a chicken. If you choose to be a chicken, you will spend the rest of your life scratching in the ground." I can’t make the men of Vlakplaas noble. But they were damn good people.

…maar hulle was damn goeie volke gewees. Ek is klaar, dankie, voorsitter…

By February 1999, not one single woman in South Africa had publicly appeared before the Amnesty Committee. The Truth Commission’s final report said only 56 of the estimated 7 000 amnesty applicants were known to be women. Also absent from the amnesty hearings were the voices of the mothers, wives, partners and daughters of the men who perpetrated gross human rights violations. In mid-1997, we received a letter from a woman wishing to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals and threats. She simply identified herself as "Helena, from the southern Lowveld of Mpumalanga". Angie Kapelianis turned her letter into a radio story with the help of Alet Joubert, Judith Lubbe and Danny Booysen.

My story begins in my late teenage years as a farm girl in the Bethlehem district of the Eastern Free State.

["January Stars"**]

As an 18-year-old girl, I met a young man in his twenties. He was working in a top security structure. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. We even spoke about marriage. A bubbly, vivacious man who beamed out wild energy. Sharply intelligent. Even if he was an Englishman, he was popular with all the "boere" Afrikaners. And all my girl friends envied me.

["January Stars"]

Then one day he said he was going on a "trip". "We won’t see each other again … maybe never ever again." I was torn to pieces. So was he. An extremely short marriage to someone else failed, all because I married to forget. More than a year ago, I met my first love again through a good friend. I was to learn for the first time that he had been operating overseas and that he was going to ask for amnesty. I can’t explain the pain and bitterness in me when I saw what was left of that beautiful, big, strong person. He had only one desire – that the truth must come out. Amnesty didn’t matter. It was only a means to the truth. A need to clean up.

["January Stars"]

He was gruesomely plucked out of our lives at the beginning of the year. Was that the price he had to pay for what he believed in? After my unsuccessful marriage, I met another policeman. Not quite my first love, but an exceptional person. Very special. Once again a bubbly, charming personality. Humorous, grumpy.

["January Stars"]

…Everything in its place and time.

["January Stars"]

Then he says he and three of our friends have been promoted. "We’re moving to a special unit. Now, now, my darling. We are real policemen now." We were ecstatic. We even celebrated.

["January Stars"]

He and his friends would visit regularly. They even stayed over for long periods. Suddenly, at strange times, they would become restless. Abruptly mutter the feared word "trip" and drive off.

["January Stars"]

I, as a loved one, knew no other life than that of worry, sleeplessness, anxiety about his safety and where they could be. We simply had to be satisfied with: "What you don’t know can’t hurt you." And all that we as loved ones knew was what we saw with our own eyes. After about three years with the special forces, our hell began.

["January Stars"]

He became very quiet. Withdrawn. Sometimes he would just press his face into his hands and shake uncontrollably. I realised he was drinking too much. Instead of resting at night, he would wander from window to window. He tried to hide his wild, consuming fear, but I saw it. In the early hours of the morning, between two and half-past-two, I jolt awake from his rushed breathing. Rolls this way, that side of the bed. He’s pale. Ice cold in a sweltering night, sopping wet with sweat. Eyes bewildered, but dull like the dead. And the shakes. The terrible convulsions and blood-curdling shrieks of fear and pain from the bottom of his soul. Sometimes he sits motionless, just staring in front of him. I never understood. I never knew. Never realised what was being shoved down his throat during the "trips". I just went through hell. Praying, pleading: "God, what’s happening? What’s wrong with him? Could he have changed so much? Is he going mad? I can’t handle the man any more! But I can’t get out. He’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life if I leave him. Why, God?"

["January Stars"]

Today I know the answers to all my questions and heartache. I know where everything began. The background. The role of "those at the top", the "cliques" and "our men" who simply had to carry out their bloody orders like "vultures". And today they all wash their hands in innocence and resist the realities of the Truth Commission.

["January Stars"]

Yes, I stand by my murderer, who let me and the old white South Africa sleep peacefully. Warmly, while "those at the top" were again targeting the next "permanent removal from society" for the "vultures". I finally understand what the struggle was really about. I would have done the same had I been denied everything. If my life, that of my children and my parents was strangled with legislation. If I had to watch how white people became dissatisfied with the best and still wanted better and got it. I envy and respect the people of the struggle. At least their leaders have the guts to stand by their "vultures", to recognise their sacrifices. What do we have? Our leaders are too holy and innocent. And faceless. I can understand if Mr [FW] De Klerk says he didn’t know, but dammit, there must be a "clique", there must be someone out there who’s still alive and who can give a face to "the orders from above" for all the operations. Dammit!

["January Stars"]

What else can this abnormal life be other than a cruel human rights violation? Spiritual murder is more inhumane than a messy, physical murder. At least a murder victim rests. I wish I had the power to make these poor, wasted people whole again. I wish I could wipe the old South Africa out of everyone’s past. I end with a few lines that my wasted "vulture" said to me one night. "They can give me amnesty a thousand times. Even if God and everyone else forgives me a thousand times, I have to live with this hell. The problem’s in my head, my conscience. There’s only one way to be free of it. Blow my own brains out. Because that’s where my hell is." Helena.

["January Stars"]

PS. Thank you for your time. Thank you for listening to the story of a loved one out of the old South Africa. For sharing her pain.

* "Woods" – George Winston. Solo piano from the album "Autumn" (01934110122)

** "January Stars" – George Winston. Solo piano from the album "Winter into Spring" (01934110192)

These scripts - © SABC 2000. No unauthorised use, copying, adaptation or reproduction permitted without prior written consent of the SABC.