Letter to Mahlamba Ndlopfu — we need new leaders, like Nokuthula MaFakazi Mtshali

Ah, Chief Dwasaho! It has been two weeks, but the mood remains subdued. The sorrow remains palpable in the Mncube household and among our cohort of seasoned political activists whose bones still ache from battles fought long before hashtags and trending tweets became our weapons of choice.

You see, my dear leader, we have lost Comrade Nokuthula MaFakazi Mtshali. She was more than just a sister, a wife, she was our lioness in the trenches, our beacon of hope during darker days. She leaves a legacy etched deeply into the hearts of those she led, loved and fiercely protected.

Nokuthula was born in 1975 in KwaMashu, KwaZulu-Natal. She served as general secretary of the South African Students’ Congress (Sasco) at Technikon Natal, now the Durban University of Technology. She was also a member of the ANC Youth League Provincial Executive Committee, and played active roles in the Young Women’s Network and the ANC mother body.

Comrade MaFakazi was a rare breed, my leader, one who believed wholeheartedly in a better South Africa. To her, social justice and education were the only games in town.

Back then, activism wasn’t a career but a calling – fuelled by hope, anger and sometimes sheer youthful defiance and exuberance. We stood firm against the die-hard Afrikaner nationalists who saw political power as their birthright – noses bloodied, spirits unbroken, my leader.

And when the winds of change finally swept through, we stood united behind the towering figure of President Nelson Mandela. We ousted the Afrikaner Broederbond-appointed university councils along with their defiant senior management.

What a glorious time that was! The air buzzed with possibility as academia quivered under the determined strides of student leaders who demanded – and won – universities that reflected the ideals of the new South Africa under Mandela’s Government of National Unity (GNU).

But today, my leader, I write with a heavy heart. Where have such courageous leaders gone? Are men and women willing to stake everything for principle rather than personal profit and power?

We long for genuine leaders who don’t merely posture but act; those who, like Comrade MaFakazi, stand firm even when winds howl loudest. It reminds me of Rise Mzansi’s slogan: “We Need New Leaders.”

But my real inspiration comes from that generation of activists who pursued careers outside politics, hoping that elected leaders would do their part. It is also inspired by the recent shenanigans of GNU members posturing over the National Budget without due regard to the people who elected them.

A young, spirited UCT student Tara Roos wrote in her Slack column that “South Africa needs adults in the room. The question is: Where are they?” Sadly, we are here outside the governance tent because of our erroneous belief that we wanted to serve our people in ways other than those that affect people’s lives daily: politics.

So, my leader, as we bid farewell to our dear Comrade MaFakazi, let us remember: the journey to a better nation isn't complete, and our struggle demands more than rhetoric and slick PR stunts.

Real leadership – true leadership – is rare, precious and desperately needed once again. Comrade MaFakazi epitomised what we might call quiet wisdom; never one to raise her voice unnecessarily, she steered clear of vanity politics and popularity.

At my 50th birthday celebration, in her characteristically gentle yet incisive manner, she asked a pointed question about why the programme had an item marked “Sasco Boys”, reminding us with clarity and grace of the role played by women comrades. “How about the women comrades who served during your time?” she gently chided.

In that moment, I was sharply reminded of how consistently she held us accountable, quietly yet firmly leading from the front in various capacities within the Mass Democratic Movement.

Her legacy is one of servant leadership, defined by substance, humility and commitment to service. Thus, she knew, like Che Guevara, that she wasn’t a liberator. “Liberators do not exist. It exists when people liberate themselves.”

While holding back tears, amid hope that our cadre was finally free of pain, we reached the Zandfontein Cemetery, north of Pretoria. Even on the way, I noticed more than one dumpsite where rubbish was strewn all over.

But the sight of the cemetery left me aghast. It is literally South Africa’s own political Siberia, except it’s not for dissidents and criminals like it was in the Soviet Union days, but for the dead and voiceless. The place is disgusting, unkempt, full of rubbish, overgrown grass and bushes.​

Neglect is not just a personal observation, but a concern echoed by many. Reports have highlighted the overgrown grass and litter that plague Zandfontein Cemetery, painting a picture of abandonment that is both disheartening and disrespectful to those who rest there. ​I pointed out that they (the current crop of leaders) can’t look after the living, yet we expect them to do right by the dead.

Unkempt cemeteries do not meet the South African Local Government Association’s Code of Good Practice for cemetery management. Instead, they risk becoming breeding grounds for pests and contributing to environmental degradation, which impacts not only the sanctity of these resting places but also the health and wellbeing of surrounding communities.

It is a tragic irony that the final resting places of our loved ones, those who fought and hoped for a better South Africa, are now symbols of neglect and decay. The state of these cemeteries reflects a broader malaise, a neglect of the values and commitments that once drove our Struggle for freedom and dignity.​

As we lay Comrade MaFakazi to rest amid this desolation, let it be a stark reminder of the work that remains. And as we stand amid the overgrown graves and scattered refuse, we must ask ourselves: Who will lead the charge to reclaim not just these sacred spaces but the very soul of our nation?​

We need new leaders indeed.

My leader, during Comrade MaFakazi’s funeral service, old comrades congregated outside the church to reflect sombrely on the sorry state of our beloved nation.

We conceded, with painful clarity, that our gravest error was stepping aside after liberation, leaving the political arena open to charlatans and opportunists – individuals who never once lifted a finger nor raised a dustbin lid to fend off police rubber bullets during the height of our Struggle.

Instead, we pursued careers outside of mainstream politics in the vain hope that it was part of building a prosperous nation. Some among us were later recalled from temporary exile to serve under various ANC ministers and MECs. But these experiences heightened our disillusionment as we encountered first-hand the lethargy of public service, the profound poverty of ideas at the top and the maddening indifference of those charged with governance.

How, my leader, can the City of Tshwane repeatedly fail in the most basic task of maintaining our cemeteries, streets and public spaces in a clean and dignified manner?

When did this deterioration begin, and why has no administration, from the ANC years through to the seven lost years of the DA reign and now under the seemingly inept stewardship of ActionSA, been unable to bring meaningful change to our daily lives?

The dirty streets of today are a depressing metaphor for a leadership vacuum that persists unabated.

This reminds me of the “leadership vacuum” epitomised by America’s 47th president, Donald Trump, a convicted felon. He is a man on a suicidal economic mission to redraw the global trade map, imprint a negative and irreversible impact on geopolitics and create new adversaries conveniently available for future bombing campaigns.

Earlier this week, I declared on Facebook that if someone desires to exit my life, I prefer not a slow, hesitant departure but a lightning-fast sprint worthy of Usain Bolt himself. By that measure, perhaps it is high time we swiftly sever ties with the US – not because it’s our heartfelt desire, but precisely because this abusive relationship warrants a decisive ending.

Rather than enduring the slow torture of incremental withdrawal – first health and research funding cuts, then an abrupt end to military cooperation and the recent expulsion of our ambassador, Ebrahim Rasool – let’s step into the metaphorical gas chamber and get it over with.

Expel us from the African Growth and Opportunity Act (Agoa), shutter the American embassy doors, issue stark travel warnings advising Americans against setting foot in South Africa, and command the 600-odd US companies to pack up and disinvest post-haste.

Go further, if you must – sanction ANC chief Fikile Mbalula and his motley crew, although I doubt they hold any assets in American banks. But South Africa needs adults in Parliament.

Till next week, my man – send me nowhere, I quit. DM