Former deputy president keeps on reminding us about SA's dark side - that is why he fascinates us so

Most South Africans seemed hooked by the saga of Jacob Zuma, except perhaps the marginalised group of (mainly white) people who prefer to pretend that the past decade never took place.

Why are we so fascinated by Zuma and his travails and alleged escapades? Why won't he simply go away? Is it because he often seems to be like the Terminator, the virtually indestructible character acted in a series of movies by muscleman Arnold Schwarzenegger, the one who keeps saying "I'll be back"?

In July 2003 the National Prosecuting Authority (NPA) declared that although it had a prima facie case of corruption against Zuma related to the arms deal, it had opted not to prosecute because it was not certain a prosecution would succeed. Zuma immediately cried foul. "Charge me or clear me," he said.

In September 2003 Zuma even went to court on an urgent basis to demand sight of the "encrypted" fax, a vital piece of evidence allegedly implicating him.

Jeremiah Shongwe, a Pretoria high court judge, ruled that the matter was not urgent and placed it on the ordinary roll, and it was settled out of court with a promise that Zuma could see the fax when it came up in the trial of Schabir Shaik, his business adviser, who had by then been charged with corruption and fraud.

Almost simultaneously, Mac Maharaj, a former transport minister and struggle icon, and Mo Shaik, a former ANC intelligence officer and Schabir's brother - both implicated in some ways with Zuma and Schabir - turned their sights on Bulelani Ngcuka, the then NPA chief. This resulted in the Hefer commission of inquiry into whether Ngcuka had been a spy for the apartheid regime.

In the end, Maharaj and Shaik were effectively outmanoeuvred due to the commission's terms of reference being shifted twice by the president; fuzzy legal representation; and also because, carried away by their indignation, they overreached themselves.

Yet, although there were calls for Zuma to give evidence before the commission - he was often mentioned by Shaik and even Maharaj as a touchstone for some events and behaviour - he laid low.

Half a year later, Schabir Shaik went on trial in the Durban high court before the austere Judge Hilary Squires. Squires gave Shaik 15 years for corruption and fraud - Shaik is on appeal - and found that "a generally corrupt relationship" had existed between Shaik and Zuma.

So a scant four months ago, prima facie became "in your face" for Zuma. The NPA charged him, along with Thint, a French arms manufacturer and dealer connected with Zuma and Shaik, with corruption.

Presumably President Thabo Mbeki sanctioned the decision to charge, or at least knew all about it, because in an uncharacteristically decisive manner he asked Zuma to quit the deputy presidency.

Zuma did not appear even to blink. He continued, as might be expected, to proclaim his innocence and also launched court actions against the Scorpions, the NPA's executive arm, for infringing his rights by raiding his premises and those of his attorneys.

He won those actions, with the result that everything seized by the Scorpions must, pending the Scorpions' appeal, be returned to him. More significantly, the documentation seized during the raids would probably be judged inadmissible by the trial judge when, or if, Zuma appears at his corruption trial scheduled for July 31.

Much more importantly, however, Zuma did not run and hide. He carried on as if it were business as usual, continued as if he were campaigning for the presidency.

His supporters and numerous groups, from the ANC Youth League to the trade union federation Cosatu, proclaimed loudly (some would say offensively) that Zuma was getting a raw deal and was the victim of a conspiracy.

Then, in November, a 31-year-old Zuma family friend laid a charge of rape against him - and this week he appeared in the Johannesburg high court. But he never even had to plead: the case has been postponed to March 6 because Bernard Ngoepe, the judge president of the Transvaal, recused himself on the basis that Zuma would be uncomfortable with him presiding because he had signed the warrants allowing the Scorpions to raid.

Judge Phineas Mojapelo, Ngoepe's number two, had already indicated to the judge president that he did not wish to preside, apparently because he had done work for Zuma during the struggle.

Then it turned out that the sister of Shongwe, Ngoepe's number three and the judge whom Ngoepe had indicated was most likely to preside, had had a child with Zuma 29 years ago.

Shongwe never even came to court.

But what had Zuma done following the rape charges in November? Again, he did not run and hide. He proclaimed his innocence, claimed he had fought against the abuse of women all his life, promised his senior ANC comrades, including the president, that he would keep a lid on his supporters, and then carried on firing them up on every occasion, wherever he went.

His piéce de résistance was appearing, two weeks ago, with a large smile on his face, in parliament's public gallery for the president's state of the nation address.

Here I still am, he seemed to be saying; you can't get rid of me so easily. And this week, outside the court, he told about 5 000 jubilant and partisan supporters what had happened inside.

He called for his "machine gun" (the words of one of his signature tunes), a bit like Old King Cole calling for his pipe and fiddlers three, and then got down and boogied with the people.

Zuma does indeed seem as tough as teak: the original Teflon man, the ungovernable creature who simply will not stay in his box. Yet to ask the question again: why does Zuma hook us so strongly? Why won't he simply go away?

"It's the wrong question," a political commentator said this week. "The correct question is not why won't he go away, but why won't WE let him go away?"

There are at least four replies that could explain Zuma's fascination for us. The first comes from his supporters. They say that because the former deputy president is clearly a man of the people and not a supporter of the conservative and effectively elitist policies of the present government coterie, he has been targeted by certain people, not excluding the person in the presidential suite.

In short, it is, as always, all about politics in general, and in particular about who our next president will be.

The aim of these forces, the Zuma group argues, is to make certain, by hook or by crook, that Zuma will never occupy that suite.

And so Machiavellian are these anti-Zuma forces - Zuma supporters will tell you seriously - that they would not be surprised to learn that the rape complainant was a honey trap, a Trojan mare "sent" to Zuma's home.

In the view of Zuma's supporters, we are witnessing a Herculean struggle by an innocent man and hero of the people.

The second answer is given by people who say that, at best, Zuma is simply guilty because he tied himself to the wrong person (Shaik) and was sucked into a corrupt relationship with Shaik because he (Zuma) was always strapped for cash.

They say too, that, being a male of a certain generation and type and not averse to a little hanky-panky, he probably ignored the complainant's "no" when she said it and probably does not even know what all the fuss is about.

Consequently, such people say, he must stand trial for both rape and corruption and take his punishment, and that, at best, all his protestations and legal manoeuvrings are the struggles of the classic over-reacher, Icarus, who flew too near the sun and had to pay the price. Man's fall from grace is at the root of our culture and we are perennially fascinated by such falls. There, but for the grace of God, go you or I.

A more balanced response, the third one, is of the sort given by the judge president in his recusal judgment on Monday. Ngoepe eschewed any sarcasm or malevolence. He pointed out that Zuma had held the second-highest office in the land, still held high office in the ruling party, and was therefore an important person in this country.

Consequently, Zuma was to be treated seriously and respectfully, no opprobrium should be allowed to adhere to the legal process and no pre-judgment of any sort should be made.

People with this more "balanced" view would also probably argue that a little of both of the first two responses also hold water: that Zuma was doubtless targeted but he had probably made some bad choices of friends and behaved badly as well.

A fourth view holds that Zuma is simply a man of cynical expediency, a clear populist and power-monger. Proponents of this view argue that Zuma's story and actions bear a frightening similarity to those of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela: doing precisely what he has wanted to, notwithstanding the law; always flirting with violence (by allowing his supporters to do what they do); enormously populist in terms of his appeal to the marginalised of society; being apparently untouchable.

We may be repelled by such people, but find them endlessly fascinating because they are so scary.

Perhaps the reasons why Zuma has his hook in most of us are a combination of all of the above, with yet another ingredient.

We have what is probably one of the most civilised constitutions and bill of rights in the world and we like to believe that we have in a very short time become one of the most civilised societies in the world. And we are mostly right.

But there is a great deal going on under the surface about which we would prefer not be reminded; there is a great deal to which we aspire that we do not always reach. What the example of Zuma does is to delve under our facade.

We like to say we are civilised. We do not shoot each other if we disagree. We hold elections. But then Zuma calls for his machine gun.

We like to think we are ruled by thoughtful people able to mix on the world's stage and who care about all of us.

Then Zuma's supporters hit the streets and their message is that it is not the people in Pretoria whom they trust. It is Zuma, and it does not matter if he got a bit of money here or there, if he has love children, or expects a woman to do what she was put on Earth to do.

We like to say that we are not racists any more; we are a rainbow nation whose members are not torn apart by ethnic sectarianism. Then Zuma's supporters come out wearing t-shirts saying "100 percent Zulu boy".

We like to say that we are moving towards a greater respect for women and that we have 16 days of activism to prove it. Then Zuma comes to the Johannesburg high court on a rape charge, his supporters rail against the women who have come out in support of the complainant, and his supporters abuse a member of the crowd whom they mistake for the complainant.

In those moments, 16 days of activism and our attempts to allow women the respect and care they are due get set back 16 years.

In short, Zuma is continually setting our national agenda on its head, continually showing ourselves our own ugly visages. No wonder we cannot let him go.

With acknowledgement to the Sunday Independent and Jeremy Gordin