For many South Africans the Farlam commission of inquiry into the Marikana tragedy was a big flop.
They were disappointed because the commission failed to indict government officials and Lonmin executives for their role in the events leading to the killings.
Did we, in our collective wisdom as a country, honestly think something significant against the executive that appointed the commission would come out of it? One is hesitant to suggest that would have been naive.
A government appointing a commission of inquiry that would find it guilty of wrong doing? Such a scenario is as inconceivable as seeing the “terminally ill” Schabir Shaik, Jacob Zuma’s former financial advisor, briber and fraudster, in orange overalls in prison.
Politically appointed commissions of inquiry operate within a framework specified by the executive. They have a history of bias. No wonder there has been a quiet unease within judicial circles about the involvement of judges to give a veneer of respectability to schemes that are under tight executive leash.
Under different circumstances in the course of our history, the executive arms of government have used different strategies to manipulate the outcomes of commissions of inquiry.
Where there is a possibility that the executive can be found wanting, the president can change the terms of reference of a commission – as Jacob Zuma did while the Marikana commission was sitting. Where the terms of reference seem impossible, if not difficult, to change yet the outcomes are likely to embarrass the executive, the president can simply shut down the inquiry. Zuma did exactly this when he stopped the investigation into Mxolisi Nxasana’s fitness to lead the National Prosecuting Authority.
In so doing Zuma evaded a possible subpoena to testify on how he himself appointed Nxasana in the first place.
Similarly, former president Thabo Mbeki did not seem interested in seeing the Donen Commission, which he appointed to probe sanction-busting by South African entities who bought oil in Iran, reach its conclusions. It’s provisional report had implicated ANC politicians and the party’s late controversial funder Sandile Majali.
The government can also cherry-pick what it regards to be important in a commission’s report. Mbeki and former president Kgalema Motlanthe preferred to follow up on findings against prosecutions boss Vusi Pikoli, but not the adverse remarks of dishonesty made against NPA head Menzi Simelane by the Ginwala Commission.
The government can also submit to a commission unsubstantiated evidence to manipulate findings. That’s what the Jan Smuts government did in relation to the commission appointed to investigate the events leading to the mass murder of black mine workers during the Rand revolt in 1922.
And where a commission’s findings prove too radical for the liking of the powers that be, the government can simply ignore its recommendations. In the 1970s the government ignored the findings of the Theron Commission which recommended significant changes in the socio-economic position of coloured people.
Implementing the recommendations would have tampered with the apartheid scheme. According to journalists Ivor Wilkins and Hans Strydom, the response by the BJ Vorster government to the findings – described by the Sunday Times as a “whitewash” – was met with “shock, anger and disappointment”. Sounds pretty familiar, doesn’t it?
Enough on the history of the uselessness of commissions. The question that must be at the heart of a national debate after Marikana is, what is being done to address the conditions that gave rise to the conflict?
The Marikana commission narrowly focused on policing tactics. It even recommended the involvement of international experts to craft sound policing practices. But the real cause of the violence, the distribution of income between shareholders and workers, was not addressed.
In his international best seller, Capital in the Twenty-First Century, French economist Thomas Piketty says Marikana represented the latest example of “distributional conflict”.
The killings brought into focus the contentious question of how income from production should be shared between labour and capital.
Piketty says the Marikana tragedy calls to mind earlier instances of violence. At Haymarket Square in Chicago on May 1 1886, and then at Fourmies, in northern France on May 1 1891, police fired on workers striking for higher wages.
“Does this kind of violent clash between labour and capital belong to the past, or will it be an integral part of 21st century history?” asks Piketty.
Leaders of business, workers and government should ask themselves this question and provide answers. Would they like to see a recurring conflict or peaceful and productive industrial relations?
If they prefer “distributional conflict”, Marikana, a 21st century episode, is bound to be repeated because the underlying cause will not be addressed. It would mean exactly what the Haymarket Square murder meant in the 19th century. Or what the Rand revolt meant in the 20th century.
If they want peace, it will mean that an institution like the National Economic Development and Labour Council will have to stop spending taxpayers’ money on nappies and do its job of fostering sound relations between business, labour and government.
South Africa is hungry for a new relationship between business, labour and government. The new relationship should not be about politicians and their friends negotiating themselves the succulent spicy “steak” on the table, using a corrupted version of black economic empowerment.
It should be about giving a “stake” to all those who participate in the production of income.
Why, for example, are mining companies not establishing a fund to educate the children of mineworkers?
The fund could be linked to a dividend payout to shareholders. The value of labour productivity and income could be calculated as capital invested by the workers themselves.
This is not to suggest that the workers’ share of income from production should be the same as that of capital. But it should be reasonable enough to ensure that the children of mineworkers have much better education opportunities than their parents who are condemned to face death – below or above ground.
The shameful developments at Lonmin – which are strangely seen as progressive – include the hiring of wives and brothers to replace the loved ones who were murdered. It’s the clearest indication yet that entire families will forever be enslaved to the mine.
Mpumelelo Mkhabela is the editor of Sowetan
Bigger stake for workers, not more ‘steak ’ for bosses
They were disappointed because the commission failed to indict government officials and Lonmin executives for their role in the events leading to the killings.
Did we, in our collective wisdom as a country, honestly think something significant against the executive that appointed the commission would come out of it? One is hesitant to suggest that would have been naive.
A government appointing a commission of inquiry that would find it guilty of wrong doing? Such a scenario is as inconceivable as seeing the “terminally ill” Schabir Shaik, Jacob Zuma’s former financial advisor, briber and fraudster, in orange overalls in prison.
Politically appointed commissions of inquiry operate within a framework specified by the executive. They have a history of bias. No wonder there has been a quiet unease within judicial circles about the involvement of judges to give a veneer of respectability to schemes that are under tight executive leash.
Under different circumstances in the course of our history, the executive arms of government have used different strategies to manipulate the outcomes of commissions of inquiry.
Where there is a possibility that the executive can be found wanting, the president can change the terms of reference of a commission – as Jacob Zuma did while the Marikana commission was sitting. Where the terms of reference seem impossible, if not difficult, to change yet the outcomes are likely to embarrass the executive, the president can simply shut down the inquiry. Zuma did exactly this when he stopped the investigation into Mxolisi Nxasana’s fitness to lead the National Prosecuting Authority.
In so doing Zuma evaded a possible subpoena to testify on how he himself appointed Nxasana in the first place.
Similarly, former president Thabo Mbeki did not seem interested in seeing the Donen Commission, which he appointed to probe sanction-busting by South African entities who bought oil in Iran, reach its conclusions. It’s provisional report had implicated ANC politicians and the party’s late controversial funder Sandile Majali.
The government can also cherry-pick what it regards to be important in a commission’s report. Mbeki and former president Kgalema Motlanthe preferred to follow up on findings against prosecutions boss Vusi Pikoli, but not the adverse remarks of dishonesty made against NPA head Menzi Simelane by the Ginwala Commission.
The government can also submit to a commission unsubstantiated evidence to manipulate findings. That’s what the Jan Smuts government did in relation to the commission appointed to investigate the events leading to the mass murder of black mine workers during the Rand revolt in 1922.
And where a commission’s findings prove too radical for the liking of the powers that be, the government can simply ignore its recommendations. In the 1970s the government ignored the findings of the Theron Commission which recommended significant changes in the socio-economic position of coloured people.
Implementing the recommendations would have tampered with the apartheid scheme. According to journalists Ivor Wilkins and Hans Strydom, the response by the BJ Vorster government to the findings – described by the Sunday Times as a “whitewash” – was met with “shock, anger and disappointment”. Sounds pretty familiar, doesn’t it?
Enough on the history of the uselessness of commissions. The question that must be at the heart of a national debate after Marikana is, what is being done to address the conditions that gave rise to the conflict?
The Marikana commission narrowly focused on policing tactics. It even recommended the involvement of international experts to craft sound policing practices. But the real cause of the violence, the distribution of income between shareholders and workers, was not addressed.
In his international best seller, Capital in the Twenty-First Century, French economist Thomas Piketty says Marikana represented the latest example of “distributional conflict”.
The killings brought into focus the contentious question of how income from production should be shared between labour and capital.
Piketty says the Marikana tragedy calls to mind earlier instances of violence. At Haymarket Square in Chicago on May 1 1886, and then at Fourmies, in northern France on May 1 1891, police fired on workers striking for higher wages.
“Does this kind of violent clash between labour and capital belong to the past, or will it be an integral part of 21st century history?” asks Piketty.
Leaders of business, workers and government should ask themselves this question and provide answers. Would they like to see a recurring conflict or peaceful and productive industrial relations?
If they prefer “distributional conflict”, Marikana, a 21st century episode, is bound to be repeated because the underlying cause will not be addressed. It would mean exactly what the Haymarket Square murder meant in the 19th century. Or what the Rand revolt meant in the 20th century.
If they want peace, it will mean that an institution like the National Economic Development and Labour Council will have to stop spending taxpayers’ money on nappies and do its job of fostering sound relations between business, labour and government.
South Africa is hungry for a new relationship between business, labour and government. The new relationship should not be about politicians and their friends negotiating themselves the succulent spicy “steak” on the table, using a corrupted version of black economic empowerment.
It should be about giving a “stake” to all those who participate in the production of income.
Why, for example, are mining companies not establishing a fund to educate the children of mineworkers?
The fund could be linked to a dividend payout to shareholders. The value of labour productivity and income could be calculated as capital invested by the workers themselves.
This is not to suggest that the workers’ share of income from production should be the same as that of capital. But it should be reasonable enough to ensure that the children of mineworkers have much better education opportunities than their parents who are condemned to face death – below or above ground.
The shameful developments at Lonmin – which are strangely seen as progressive – include the hiring of wives and brothers to replace the loved ones who were murdered. It’s the clearest indication yet that entire families will forever be enslaved to the mine.
Mpumelelo Mkhabela is the editor of Sowetan
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