A Winter of Reckoning: Policing, Syndicates, and the Erosion of Command

Clyde N.S. Ramalaine

South Africa’s winter has long echoed historic burdens, most notably the 1976 student uprising and the July 2021 unrest. The latter, labelled an insurrection by the Ramaphosa-led state, served as a politically expedient move, deflecting accountability while exposing racist violence in Phoenix, state brutality, and broken democratic promises.

But July 2025 signals a new chapter, marked by exposures, high-level suspensions, and institutional decay, especially within the South African Police Service (SAPS). This “Winter of Discontent” reveals not just negligence but a disturbing nexus of criminal syndicates, compromised police structures, and political interference. This is about more than corruption; it is about the erosion of command and a nation caught between exposure and accountability.

At the centre of this storm is KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi. His explosive 6 July statement shifted public discourse, revealing forensic links between weapons used in several high-profile assassinations, pointing to a coordinated network within the state’s security structures.

Mkhwanazi’s disclosures are grounded in evidence: ballistic matches, arrests, and corroborated results. Weapons recovered in the murder of engineer Armand Swart matched those used in the 2022 assassination of DJ Sumbody and the attempted murder of Tebogo Thobejane. SAPS spokesperson Athlenda Mathe confirmed, “All these three cases are linked somehow.” Four weapons, including the AK-47 used to kill DJ Sumbody, are now tied to at least 10 high-profile cases.

By July 21, four suspects were arrested, including alleged kingpin Katiso “KT” Molefe and three suspected hitmen: Michael Pule Tau, Tiego Floyd Mabusela, and Musa Kekana. SAPS confirmed the ballistics-linked weapons to at least ten cases, giving credibility to Mkhwanazi’s claims and undermining counter-narratives, particularly Minister Senzo Mchunu’s initial denials, later followed by admissions.

Criticism of Mkhwanazi’s motives came from UJ academic Steven Friedman, who suggested the disclosures reflected SAPS factionalism. But dismissing hard evidence as political theatre lacks integrity. Such scepticism risks masking the reality beneath elite commentary. The forensic backing and arrests demand honest reckoning, not theoretical dismissal.

Another twist came via former Hawks boss Godfrey Lebeya, who admitted to receiving a tip-off—allegedly from someone linked to Molefe- about a Hawks operation. Lebeya redirected the Hawks, leading to an almost confrontation with SAPS. He has refused to name the caller, citing the pending Madlanga Judicial Commission. But the question remains: why do criminal suspects have such access to top law enforcement, while citizens struggle to report crimes?

Equally disconcerting is the role of Brown Mogotsi, a politically connected figure who acted as a conduit between Mchunu and SAPS, despite having no formal position. Once active in North West politics and a vocal CR17 supporter, Mogotsi sent unsolicited WhatsApp directives to Mkhwanazi, claiming to speak for Mchunu. In a Checkpoint interview, he even claimed to be in Tanzania during the arrest of Thabo Bester and Nandipha Magudumana.

Mogotsi’s ambiguous role, shadowy operative or media-seeking hero, underscores the breakdown of command in SAPS and the alarming closeness between politics and policing. His public activity illustrates political interference cloaked as operational engagement.

The allegations surrounding Mchunu and Sibiya suggest obstruction. Mchunu disbanded the Political Killings Task Team (PKTT) investigating political assassinations, while over 120 dockets stalled. Mkhwanazi linked Sibiya to controversial figures, including Mogotsi and murder-accused businessman Vusimusi “Cat” Matlala, through data from Matlala’s cellphone. In Parliament, Mchunu denied knowing Mogotsi, only to later call him “a comrade.” This contradiction borders on perjury.

Moreover, critical dockets were reassigned to Sibiya without SAPS Commissioner Masemola’s knowledge, suggesting an attempt to derail investigations. Sibiya has since taken legal action against SAPS for what he calls an unlawful suspension.

President Ramaphosa’s suspension of Gauteng Director of Public Prosecutions Advocate Andrew Chauke added to the month’s turmoil. Is this accountability, or political housekeeping? Does it reflect NDPP Shamila Batohi’s past warnings about compromised individuals within the NPA?

July brought yet another subplot: Patriotic Alliance (PA) Deputy President Kenny Kunene, who was present at Molefe’s arrest. Though uncharged, his presence drew attention. Kunene resigned from his City of Johannesburg post pending an internal party investigation. His background in media ownership, Weekly Xposé, Africa News 24-7, may explain his presence as a search for a scoop. Still, the PA’s swift suspension of Kunene contrasts sharply with the ANC’s inertia. Mchunu, shielded by executive privilege, remains untouched.

In response to Mkhwanazi’s disclosures, Ramaphosa announced three critical decisions on 13 July: the formation of a judicial commission, placing Mchunu on leave, and appointing Firoz Cachalia as acting minister. These moves are now under Constitutional Court review, with the uMkhonto we Sizwe Party (MKP) challenging their legality.

Should the court side with the MKP and strike down the announcements, the implications would be disruptive. Such a ruling would mark an institutional red card not just for executive overreach, but also against the President’s ability to act in crisis.

It could provoke a constitutional crisis, weaken the presidency’s authority under Section 84, embolden adversaries questioning the legitimacy of state efforts to combat law enforcement capture, and further erode SAPS's fragile command. Worse, it might encourage those implicated to delay accountability under the guise of procedural propriety.

The Madlanga Commission may not commence for three months and could take years to conclude. Meanwhile, overlapping investigations from Parliament, the Public Protector, and others have been launched.

But are these parallel probes strategically sound, or dangerously duplicative? Witnesses may feel compromised about testifying before the commission begins, fearing political fallout or legal complications. Without coordination, these overlapping inquiries could harm the integrity of the entire process. Justice demands urgency, but also coherence.

We’ve seen this before: Phala Phala produced more noise than resolution. Overlapping mandates, jurisdictional confusion, and political manoeuvring tactics create a fog that allows the guilty to vanish, locked in a sealed status. The more disjointed our accountability processes, the easier they become to manipulate.

As July ends, one wonders: Will the judiciary be next? If Mkhwanazi’s revelations are accurate, the rot reaches further into the justice system. Is South Africa ready for that confrontation?

This winter may not deliver justice, but it has begun a reckoning, driven not by politicians but by a police commissioner with evidence. Mkhwanazi’s bravery has shattered the silence. He’s shown us a state entangled with criminality, protected by privilege, and nearing institutional collapse.

As the Madlanga Commission awaits commencement, the spread of unaligned investigations risks confusion over clarity. Without coherence, justice may again be buried under politics. July 2025 has not answered every question, but it’s raised the ones we can no longer ignore.

Whether this moment becomes a turning point or deepens the national malaise will depend on what follows. South Africa stands at a precipice, its guardians exposed, its institutions tested, and its people impatient for action.

* Clyde N.S. Ramalaine is a theologian, political analyst, lifelong social and economic justice activist, published author, poet, and freelance writer.

** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL, Independent Media or The African.