Opinion & Analysis

The fraud and corruption trial of Durban businessman Schabir Shaik began with classical references, and these classical overtones endured through the trial, none more so than the word “epic”, for an epic it has been. More than six months of exhaustive hearings, regular postponements and lengthy bouts of testimony have probably dulled people’s senses about the significance of this trial.

But it marks a political milestone in SA’s democratic history, touching on a host of political and commercial issues that have wider significance than just the trial itself. In a way, the trial is an extended metaphor for the politics of the day. It has, for example, touched on the blurry relationship between SA’s new politicians and SA’s aspirant business moguls. It has ventured into the grey area between business support for new politicians and what expectations business has of support in return. It is, in short, a test case of what level of interaction between business and politics the law will countenance. If the case does nothing else, it will clarify the lines that bisect the grey area between friendly assistance and formal corruption.

Without prejudging the case, it is pretty obvious that the picture it paints of these issues is grimy. The defence has manfully argued that it is not a crime to drop names, and not a crime to support a friend in need. The state has countered that it might not be a crime to drop names, but it is a crime to expect those named to come to your aid in business ventures. Where does supporting a friend end and anticipating financial reward in return begin?

From the public’s point of view, there is one sobering aspect, and that is the overall costs involved. At the most, the total amount of money that changed hands comes to no more than R1,6m. This is not trivial, but neither is it a king’s ransom. There is no way to accurately calculate the costs of bringing and defending the case since they are borne by the state and negotiated between client and counsel. But, at a loose guess, Shaik’s defence could have cost him about R7m. The cost to the state of bringing the case would have been three times as much if commercial rates were paid.

Even if these figures are overstated, the huge disparity between the money involved and the cost of bringing the case throws into sharp relief the dangers of allowing a culture of corruption to flourish. It remains to be determined whether the crime of corruption has in fact been committed, but if it turns out to be so, the disparity demonstrates just how difficult and costly it is to roll back corruption.

One other aspect of the case deserves mention. The case ended on a bizarre note, with the defence throwing out a host of alternative explanations, seemingly with one eye on suggesting that even if the accused was guilty, it did not necessarily follow that Deputy President Jacob Zuma was involved, too. In a sense, posing alternative possibilities that square equally with the facts constitutes a justified attempt to demonstrate the state has not proved its case beyond reasonable doubt. Yet the alternatives were so peculiar and apparently so tailored to suit a political agenda that they were simply out of place. It’s one thing to suggest alternatives, another to suggest that your own client might have deliberately duped the deputy president into inadvertently accepting a bribe that he desired only for himself.

This last-ditch stratagem fools nobody and only serves to emphasise the need for Zuma to speedily clarify his role in this whole affair.

Zuma’s attempt to simply ignore the issue in the hope that it will eventually go away of its own accord is a tactic that government in general, and President Thabo Mbeki in particular, should not allow.

With acknowledgement to the Business Day.