Listening to the silent majority

[18]

I drove to Lekoa, where my friend, Jabulani Patose, had set up a meeting with mayor Samuel Kolisang (71). In early 1988, Mr Kolisang had taken a courageous initiative. He established the Vaal Residents Representative Party (VRRP). He handed me a copy of the Constitution containing 11 sections. It carried also ‘a declaration of oath of allegiance in seven articles’. It seemed a sensible document and resembled the politics of the FID. Although Samuel Kolisang mapped out the VRRP only early in 1988, he managed to take 40 of the 44 seats in the October 26 election. But the political honeymoon in Lekoa did not last long. Soon a number of VRRP town councillors tabled a series of demands. They wanted to use their official cars for private use. They asked for salary increases, and when that demand was not met, for liquor licenses, to be able to augment their salaries. And last but not least, these councillors wanted permission to carry firearms.

Kolisang said to the rebellious VRRP councillors: ‘Gentlemen, we

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were elected by an overwhelming majority. The people love us. What are we doing with firearms?’ I countered that it took the bullet of one lone lunatic to assassinate Martin Luther King, who was loved by virtually all US blacks. ‘Previous council members,’ replied the mayor, ‘were allowed to carry arms, but at that time the people were angry at the council. They love us.’ I hoped he was right, since various of my sources were less optimistic about the mood in Lekoa.

‘During the election campaign,’ mayor Kolisang told me, ‘we made certain promises to the residents. Now, we have obligations. We promised not to be selfish and above all not to serve our personal interests. We are not going to open businesses for our own gain. And, we are not going to carry firearms. After all, we were elected by mostly Christian voters. I told them, gentlemen, we are just starting our jobs, and you are already asking for more. Let's do our work and not begin by increasing our own salaries. We have got to set an example for the community. This reaction of mine angered them.’ Because of this attitude of the mayor, serious problems developed.

‘The dissident councillors began to boycott council meetings,’ the mayor continued. ‘Or, they would try to disturb our discussions and in the end they passed a vote of no confidence in my absence. Actually, they arranged a coup against me and the deputy mayor, Mrs Kate Sibongile Ngwenya. Then, Mr Olaus van Zijl of the Transvaal Provincial Administration in Pretoria came over and told the council that this was all rubbish, that I was to remain mayor and Mrs Ngwenya the deputy mayor. Now, they are ashamed.’

Samuel Kolisang was assaulted along with some of his close collaborators in the mayor's office. His official and personal papers were stolen and even his car keys were taken away. Aside from the move by Mr Olaus van Zijl, the mayor brought the action of the dissident VRRP councillors before the Supreme Court in Johannesburg. ‘What would have happened,’ he asked, ‘if they had prevailed? how would they have treated the minority? Blacks are in the majority in this country, no doubt about it. They demand power and liberation, and they should have it. Blacks have a right to human dignity. But - and this is crucial - how will blacks exert their newly-won power in the future? Will they respect minority rights? I feel too many blacks are presently advocating “one man, one vote” simply to gain power.’

I asked the mayor, since his recent experience in Lekoa could be

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likened to a microcosm of political developments in South Africa, what would happen if State President PW Botha were to announce that a ‘one man, one vote’ election was to be held now. Samuel Kolisang replied with one word, ‘Chaos’, echoing the opinion of Matilda Mothlaping and many other black leaders I have spoken to.