Top Quotes: “The Delayed Revolution: Swaziland in the Twenty-First Century” — Nhlanhla Msibi
Early History
“Once in power, Sobhuza II would face the thankless task of rebuilding an empire frittered away by not one but two of his predecessors in a series of ill-advised concessions to white settlers from the Transvaal (in what is today’s Mpumalanga Province, which lies far east of Johannesburg on South Africa’s border with Mozambique) and Natal (today’s KwaZ-ulu-Natal Province, which stretches alongside the Indian Ocean, reaching the southernmost tip of Mozambique, and marking South Africa’s warm eastern coastline), Sobhuza would begin by contesting through the courts, at great personal expense, the validity of the concessions granted mainly in 1882 with the discovery of gold reserves in Swaziland. The discovery of gold lured countless fortune-seekers to Swaziland, sparking off what could only be described as a concessions free-for-all. Under Mswati I, for instance, land and mineral rights were palmed off for as little a dog, a horse, a bottle of liquor and some gew-gaws.
Until 1890, when U-Labotsibeni relinquished certain state powers to a three-man commission representing both the Republic of the Transvaal and Great Britain, Swaziland had been an independent state, recognised by both these countries. Swaziland’s geographic boundaries were precisely defined in terms of the Pretoria Convention of 1881, and the country’s independence reaffirmed in the London Convention of 1884. While the emphasis in these conventions was on protection, the Swazis got an early raw deal when powers over all inhabitants were conferred on the Transvaal Republic, and the king was demoted to Paramount Chief of the Swazis in Swaziland.
The end of the Anglo-Boer War (later re-christened the South African War) ushered in a new era in Swazi history. Against its will, the British colonial empire took control over Swaziland in 1902 to confront what it could only describe as a chaotic state of affairs that elicited failed calls for the territory’s incorporation into the Transvaal, itself a newly proclaimed British colony.”
“The Swazi campaign to buy back white-owned land and Crown land only began in 1913. The subsequent inauguration of a land fund, for which young Swazi men would toil deep in the belly of South Africas gold mines, each parting with five pounds per annum — the equivalent of three months in wages — towards U-Labotsibeni’s determined cause, saw the Swazi ultimately buy back 76,853 acres of land from the white settler community.
U-Labotsibeni, better known to the Swazi as ‘Gwamile’ (the indomitable one), was a commanding figure among her people. In her two supremely delicate and intricate roles, she was widely respected — albeit grudgingly by some — as a self-confident, politically astute leader. In return, to U-Labotsibeni herself and the Swazi people generally, the British proved nothing less than invidious. Few should have been surprised when, in January 1915, U-Labotsibenis well-orchestrated land buy-back campaign was dealt a fatal blow with Viscount Buxton’s issuing of a proclamation forbidding the purchase of land by the Swazi nation, except with the express permission of the High Commissioner. Buxton, instead, imposed land regulations in a manner more favourable to white settler interests, and restricted land sales to individuals. Buxton’s policy would persist all the way up to the 1940s.”
“After the Second World War, Swaziland experienced a period of transformation on a scale never before seen as the asbestos, timber, wood pulp, citrus, pineapple, sugar and iron-ore industries grew rapidly. By the early 1950s, Swaziland had become a significant importer of labour from neighbouring Mozambique, South Africa and as far north as South Rhodesia (present-day Zimbabwe). This sudden upswing in Swaziland’s economic fortunes paved the way for an expansion in secondary education, triggering a large influx of teachers and other skilled workers from South Africa, most notable of whom were political refugees.”
Modern History
“Garment Industries, the Swaziland branch of a South African subsidiary of Taiwan’s Chia Ho business group, quite possibly the biggest culprit of the sanction-busting era, epitomised the latter. Sometime towards 1986, Garment Industries hired one Happiness Dhlamini and many other seamstresses — the easy pickings from Swaziland’s haphazardly organised and, at the time, far less radicalised workforce — to help save its American export market following the banning of South African textiles from the US market owing to the Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act (CAAA) of 1986.
“The bosses would bring shirts already made elsewhere] and tell us to put the labels on [them],” said the then 20-year-old sewing machine operator who also recalled the odd times when she and her colleagues handled shirts marked with labels from Zululand, which they were to remove and sew on one that written, “Made in Swaziland’”, instead.”
“For the small kingdom, it would be business as usual as foreign-based firms, the likes of the Coca-Cola Export Corporation — which relocated its entire concentrate plant from South Africa — Nestle, Cadbury-Schweppes and vehicle windscreen makers, Pilkingtons, descended upon Swaziland, flooding the country with foreign capital and feasting on an a-la-carte menu of generous concessions and a tempting new package of tax incentives (introduced in June 1985), that featured outright tax exemption for the first five years of business. And, to top things off, government tossed in the wholesale remittance of dividends and company profits, not a cent of which was to be ploughed back into any notable form of investment, locally, something virtually unheard of at the time. These were desperate times indeed.
For the Chia Ho group and other industrial freeloaders, such concessions, alongside the extra padding that false-labelling and other nefarious practices provided, were simply manna from heaven. By mid-1989, Swaziland had reached an intoxicating economic high: “We are enjoying some of the [sweet] fruits of the disinvestment process [in neighbouring South Africa]”, said an elated Barnabas Sibusiso Dlamini, Swaziland’s then finance minister.”
“On 14 November, what seemed like years of relative peace was shattered when government declared war on students at Uniswas Kwaluseni campus in Matsapha. Violence broke out when police and army units laid into students who were ostensibly protesting the poor quality of food on campus and their generally shabby living conditions. In the aftermath of the chaos, which saw countless students snuffed out of the campus library with the use of teargas, and many fleeing for their lives, 300 students were reported as having been severely injured.
This day, hence dubbed and silently commemorated as ‘Black Wednesday,’ demonstrated the Swazi government’s uncompromising (and frankly brutal) stance on any form of quasi-political dissent under the new king. “We’ll beat the English out of you!” barked members of the army as they taunted students in a military operation provocatively code-named ‘Operation Tifundziswa’ [The] Educated Ones).
Then, newly elected SRC president (and later prominent Swazi lawyer), Lindiwe Khumalo-Matse, recalls vividly the blood-curdling screams from inside the library as soldiers bludgeoned their way into the campus library. Khumalo-Matse, who was similarly trapped inside the campus library alongside all the others, recalls being beaten black and blue: It wasn’t just “tap, tap, please get out”; it was naked savagery. The tension on the day had unleashed the army’s most feral impulses.”
“What had started off as a somewhat haphazard and generally low-key campus demonstration regarding the state of food on campus lumped together with a whole host of administrative demands soon turned into unexpected demands for democratic reforms across Swaziland.”
“By tradition, Swaziland is a dual monarchy. Together, the King and Queen Mother embody all power — legislative, executive, administrative and religious. Historically, the balance of power between this ruling pair has rested on character. Indeed, there have been times when either individual has held effective sway over political power.”
“In 1987, for instance, Swaziland’s migrant labour force numbered 14,000 or 15 per cent of South Africas total migrant labour force, pumping life-giving revenue into Swaziland’s sanctions-busting economy. Moreover, then as now, the country remained wholly dependent upon South Africa for its oil needs, 65 per cent of its electric power, and 95 per cent of its imports, which included such basic staple foods as maize, potatoes and milk.”
“Not only had government abolished the rand for seemingly dubious reasons but wilfully discarded the customary (and potentially lucrative) compensation provided to it by South Africa for loss of seigniorage for the rand’s circulation in smaller SADC states. Out on Swaziland’s streets, thanks to the rand’s continued availability, it was business as usual. People — locals and foreigners alike — were simply none-the-wiser. Notwithstanding some plausible claims of inequality between the rand and the lilangeni, government actually kept the rand in unsanctioned circulation for decades to come, and, ultimately, landed up with more egg on its face. Simply put, people actually preferred to hold onto the rand for practical purposes, and government soon realised that it would be foolhardy to disrupt a largely functional economy for what, on the face of it, seems an ill-conceived decision.
By 2001, logic had ultimately prevailed.
Through the CMA Agreement, Swaziland quietly resurrected the rand as legal tender on par with the lilangeni, as before, but retained the leeway to delink the two currencies should circumstances so dictate.”
“Unlike Zambia, Tanzania, Leso-tho, Mozambique and other African nations that sheltered South Africa’s refugees during the apartheid years, Swaziland ultimately banished them into the wilderness. At best, Swaziland’s so-called ‘struggle credentials’ were, highly questionable, at worse, irredeemably soiled.”
“Women remained the most affected by the (now appropriately termed HIV/AIDS) pandemic, accounting for 42 per cent of all HI-viral infections whilst, by disturbing contrast, men accounted for a mere 15 percent.”
“When quizzed on how common it was for one to have another regular partner beyond one’s spouse, for instance, 53 per cent of the respondents to a 2005 Makhwapheni campaign baseline and evaluation survey confirmed the practice as very common. For years, the (suitably labelled) practice of sexual networking seemed largely confined to men. However, with the fast-changing socio-economic times, women, married or not, plunged unwittingly into such risky social practices, often driven by the need for added financial support, for instance.”
“Soon after he assumed power in 1986, Museveni became the first African leader to speak out openly about HIV/AIDS. That same year, Museveni’s government established its National AIDS Control Program, launching an all-out HIV/AIDS awareness campaign that enlisted community leaders, civil society, and faith-based groups alike to help battle the disease. By 2001, overall HIV/ AIDS prevalence in Uganda had fallen from 15 per cent, in 1991, to just one per cent.
Except to underscore the effectiveness of combining proven approaches, a key finding from the Uganda experience was that no single factor could account for the country’s extraordinary progress in overcoming the scourge of HIV/AIDS. Ugandan health authorities distributed millions of free condoms and embarked on a relentless campaign to educate the country’s populace on the very basics of HIV transmission through sexual con-duct. “Transparency, openness and modern communications, that is what we use,” said one Sam Okware, who was then head of Uganda’s AIDS control programme.”
“On any other day, it probably would have passed by without incident. For the occasional disappearance of a young maiden off Swaziland’s streets — only to re-emerge under a brief news caption — had become a familiar occurrence as far back as 1986, soon after Crown Prince Makhosetive’s inauguration as ‘King Mac.’”
“None had counted on the sudden and audacious response by Lindiwe Dlamini, Zena’s mother. Perhaps it was the feeling, amongst some, that the girls’ disappearance was an abduction in the pure criminal sense or, simply, that the urge to prove that not everyone could be mollified with a herd of cattle when things go wrong, whatever the case, Lindiwe Dlamini was not about to back down. Instead, the mother to a boy-girl set of twins charged ahead, setting news headlines ablaze, and winning local and international hearts and minds with her unabashed forcefulness. This was no laughing matter. Dlamini was adamant that, regardless of Zena’s presence at the annual Reed Dance ceremony in the town of Nhlangano, she (Zena) had no desire whatsoever to become Mswati’s future wife.’”
“By November, Mahlangu looked to have resigned herself to her fate behind the gates of the royal guesthouse. Wearily, her mother, Lindiwe Dlamini, had come to the same conclusion as her lawyer trudged into court seeking the indefinite postponement of Mahlangu’s frustrating court case, a move that all but confirmed the obvious: Zena was now on the verge of becoming Ula-Mahlangu, Mswati’s eleventh wife.”
“It was all over. As Ng’arua put it: “The daughter [Zena Mahlangu] is [now] 18 years of age, and [she] is not covered by the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, so there is no case to be made at the International Court of Justice [on her behalf ].”
At long last, Attorney General, Phesheya Dlamini, could now openly confess that Mswati and Mahlangu had had a long-standing (secret) relationship. Until recently, she had been a legal minor, whilst he (Mswati), aged thirty-four, was close to double her age.”
“Mswati’s plan to buy himself a Canadian-manufactured Global Express private jet, back in 2002, sparked universal outrage when Prime Minister Barnabas Dlamini openly confessed that government had dipped into development funds to offer US 2 million dollars (nearly 21 million emalangeni or the equivalent in South African rand) as a down payment. Yet, for weeks on end, it seemed Mswati would have his way as frantic behind-the-scenes haggling continued. Those daring enough implored Mswati to steer clear of Swaziland’s foreign reserves in purchasing the jet plane even as he insisted it would also be used to ferry passengers.
“I couldn’t [quite] reconcile that in my mind”, recalls a former high-ranking South African cabinet minister who had earlier been roped in by government to devise a funding plan for the jet, “Because if it had to be there at the beckoning of the king then you can’t very well cancel flights because the king is all of a sudden taking the plane to Europe … and obviously from the beginning anybody could see that it would not be a viable project from a financial point of view. It was purely something for the comfort and the prestige of the king.”
“The horror of Zulu monarch, Good Zwelithini’s public humiliation under Mandela’s so-called new South Africa, must surely have been an ominous sign to the Swazi royal house. In his brave attempt to rise above politics, Zwelithini became a key casualty in the raging battle between the ANC and Inkatha Freedom Party’s (IFP) for political supremacy in KwaZulu-Natal (KZN) Province.
Within a year of the ANC assuming power, the future role of South Africas many traditional leaders already looked uncertain as did the question of their remuneration. A tally of costs done in 1995 revealed that the provincial (KZN) government spent a minimum of 8, 7 million rand per year on Zwelithini’s upkeep. Indeed, the Zulu king could hardly have been accused of emptying the state coffers. Yet, when compared to Mandela’s presidential budget of little more than 16 million rand and, above all, Mandela’s comparatively hectic work schedule, Zwelithin looked to be having it way too easy. After all, Zwelithini’s public role was more ceremonial than diplomatic.
By early 2002, the provincial government of KZN, under IFP leader Gatsha Buthelezi, had stripped away a whole host of royal privileges from Zwelithini, demanding that he present all official invitations and like requests for approval by the Royal Household Department (set up in 2000), and confiscated the king’s privileged access to a dedicated state vehicle, barred his mobile phone, slashed his mobile phone budget, and curtailed some of his travel privileges.”
“In January 2004, in the face of warnings by the IMF that “Swaziland’s socioeconomic situation remains difficult, with persistent high rates of HIV/AIDS, unemployment, and poverty.” Mswati announced his intention to embark on the first of several phases of a palace-building project to help accommodate his burgeoning harem of wives.”
“Not long before this, then energy minister, Magwagwa Mdluli, had remarked astonishingly that: “People say the hunger [crisis in Swaziland] will be [made] worse by the purchase of the [private] jet. This is untrue. In fact, the jet is essential for the king to travel … overseas to scout for food.””
“At home, Swazis harbour little ill-will towards Mswati, a mild sense of irritation, perhaps, but no deep-seated hatred, as yet. As one keen observer recently. remarked:
It’s not like Mswati, whose political opponents [openly] concede is popular with the masses, is [willfully] throwing people into prison, or ordering their deaths at a whim like many past African dictators. They [i.e. Swazis] like it that they are not like those other unfortunate African countries where different tribes are forced to exist within the same borders.”
“Popular South African radio station, Metro FM disk jockeys took to mocking Mswati by twisting the chorus to famous British pop star Phil Collins’ famous hit song ‘One More Night,’ singing, ‘One more wife! Give me one more wife. One more wife…””
“The National Treasury would continue haemorrhaging from the scourge of mostly state-led corruption as loss figures soared into the stratosphere, all thanks to the halo effect of the king’s exalted status “as the mouth that speaks no lie” For, far from discouraging corrupt practices, the mere mention of Mswati’s name only served to complicate matters further. The story, for instance, of a blustering prince who once burst into a Swazi Bank board meeting, demanding “some of my Daddy’s [the king’s] money!” is no urban legend: it was his turn to “eat”.
Others, presumably, had long come and gone. Thanks to an endless stream of multimillion-rand loans, mostly dished out to senior princes, cabinet ministers and just about anyone with apparent royal connections, by the early 1990s, Swazi Bank was rumoured to have nearly gone bust. Indeed, when quizzed on when he would repay his 3 million rand loan to the bank, Chief Dambuza Lukhele, a former cabinet minister himself, simply asked: “Why should I be the only one?”
With loans of up to 65 million rand apiece, in some cases, the damage had long been done, the culture of unrestrained entitlement long entrenched. “Like the luxury cars with drivers and the little flags on the bonnet, like the overseas trips, they took the bank money to be [just] one of the perks of [high] office”, said a local businesswoman.”
“Said once-retired Malawian judge, M.H. Mtegha, government’s (erstwhile and weary) hired hand to deal with the scourge of publi sector corruption in Swaziland: “If we go after someone high up [in government] he [simply] says ‘the king told me to do this, what can I do?’ To be satisfied [the person was actually telling the truth], I’d have to ask the king himself”, and that, of course, is out of the question. In Swaziland, the king is immune to any kind of probity, let alone allegations of corruption.”
“For many, February 2011 appeared to mark the beginning of the end for Mswati: public service wages were going unpaid, street lights flickered dimly, roads went unfixed, state vehicles – buses included – grounded for a lack of spare parts, fuel or both, and vital stockpiles of medicine fast dwindling.”
“The public was incensed. Pro-democracy formations rallied instantly for mass protest. And, on 18 March, students and unions took to the streets, calling on Mswati’s government to step down. In a rare show of restraint, police avoided breaking the protest up.”
“Swaziland’s security forces moved swiftly to hound off the streets anyone even suspected of involvement in planning for the April 12 campaign, tossing them straight into police cells. In the words of Swazi police commissioner, Isaac Magagula, everyone remained a suspect “until proven otherwise”.
Magagula was not joking.
Anyone who so much as stood in a pair of sneakers, or was caught wearing a suspicious (red or ‘Communist-type’) T-shirt would face the wrath of Swaziland’s security forces. It was a master stroke on the side of the authorities, and a sudden turning point in the April 12 campaign. With less than 24 hours to go before the real action, SNUS president, Maxwell Dlamini, SUDF national organising secretary, Themba Mabuza, SUDF deputy secretary, Simanga Ginindza, and Swayoco deputy-president, Sifiso Mabuza, found themselves languishing behind bars. Except for a few brave individuals, the opposition frontline virtually collapsed from then on.”
“Looking back at the April 12 uprising, Lukhele recalls quite vividly how government would instruct MTN Swaziland’s management “to get [hold of] messages, like a printout of telephone numbers … and recordings of calls of certain people who seem to be pro-democratic” in outlook, or alternatively, known leaders of the pro-democracy movement in Swaziland. At times, the Internet would shut down for an entire day only to return suddenly later in the evening. On other occasions, Lukhele adds, “you would call a person [and] … the phone call would [be] … disrupted and cut [short], and, when you call again, the person is no longer available.” Indeed, it was not altogether uncommon for police interrogators to recite an entire conversation, literally, word for word, seeking to coerce detained political activists into spilling the beans.”
“All seemed noble until July 2011, when South Africa’s Mail and Guardian published the story of a 58-year old Swazi businessman, the owner of Prestige Guesthouse in Mbabane who faced bankruptcy having effectively lost his guesthouse when, in late 2002, the King’s office commandeered it to shelter the Queen Mother of Lesotho, Queen Masenate Mohato Seeiso, whilst on a ten-day visit. However, by 2011, the guesthouse had even housed one of Mswati’s brides-to-be. Threatened with foreclosure, the owner offered to sell the property to Mswati as a compromise. But, when it did, compensation from government came in frustrating dribs and drabs and with persistent demands that he sign over his property to the state. Bravely, the man steadfastly refused. In June 2011, after years of legal wrangling and over 200 attempts at meeting Mswati to help resolve matters, Swaziland’s Chief Justice, Michael Ramodibedi, wrote back in response to LR Mamba and Associates, the man’s legal representatives, saying: “His Majesty the king [Mswati III] and Ingwenyama is immune from any suit or legal process.””
“Rather than play ball, government announced it would channel nearly half of the 24 billion-rand loan towards capital investment projects, including the construction of a road leading to the half-finished Sikhuphe airport. ‘Health, education, orphaned and vulnerable children (OVCs) and other needy social programmes would see only 500 million emalangeni of the total,’ said finance minister, Sithole. Sithole’s announcement flushed the South African national treasury’s earlier assurances that the funds would go directly towards Swaziland’s priority areas right down the drain.”
“Government’s priorities for the 2012 fiscal year conveyed little more than business as usual, all round. In the national budget, for instance, government allotted 210 million rand (emalangeni) to the king and his family, a figure unchanged from 2011 but, nonetheless, up 154 million emalangeni from 2010, and a further 250 million emalangeni towards so-called royal projects, including the refurbishment of state houses, the maintenance of roads leading to certain palaces, and the training of the royal family’s security detail. Shrewdly, the health budget increased slightly to 1.1 billion emalangeni but, as one brave sceptic put it, “Just because the government has made a political commitment [to those in dire need, this ] does not mean that the money is there in liquid cash. We will have to wait and see the money in the bank.” Far from heartwarming, such sentiments cast a further spell of doom upon the estimated 200,000 people (or one in four adults) who were said to be HIV-positive across Swaziland’s national population — still the highest HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in the world, according to a (2007) government survey.
On the face of it, there was much reason to smile along with Swaziland’s orphaned and vulnerable children, whose budget government had upped to 10 million emalangeni. Though shamefully, what the orphaned had gained, the elderly had lost in double portion, with government simultaneously slashing of the latter’s budget by a whopping 20 million emalangeni. Supposedly, where NGO intervention failed, fate would surely triumph.”
