South Africa opens a new inquiry into apartheid-era killings known as Cradock Four
JOHANNESBURG — When Nombuyiselo Mhlauli was given her husband's body back for burial, he had more than 25 stab wounds in his chest and seven in his back, with a gash across his throat. His right hand was missing.
Sicelo Mhlauli was one of four Black men abducted, tortured and killed 40 years ago this month by apartheid-era security forces in South Africa. No one has been held accountable for their deaths.
But a new judge-led inquiry into the killings of the anti-apartheid activists who became known as the Cradock Four — and who became a rallying cry for those denied justice — opened this month.
It is part of a renewed push for the truth by relatives of some of the thousands of people killed by police and others during the years of white minority rule and enforced racial segregation.
Mhlauli described the state of her husband's body during testimony she gave at the start of the inquiry in the city of Gqeberha, near where the Cradock Four were abducted in June 1985. Relatives of some of the three other men also testified.
Thumani Calata never got to know her father, Fort Calata, who had been a teacher. She was born two weeks after the funerals of the Cradock Four, which drew huge crowds and galvanized resistance to apartheid.
'I don't know how it feels, and I will never know how it feels, to be hugged by my dad,' Thumani Calata, now 39, told the inquiry as she wept.
Two previous inquiries were held during apartheid. A two-year inquest that started in 1987 found the men were killed by unknown people. Another in 1993 said they were killed by unnamed policemen.
Relatives of the Cradock Four likely will never see justice. The six former police officers directly implicated in the abductions and killings have died, the last one in 2023. None was prosecuted despite the post-apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commission identifying them and denying them amnesty in the late 1990s.
That commission, set up by then-President Nelson Mandela, attempted to confront the atrocities of apartheid in the years after the system officially ended in 1994. While some killers were granted amnesty, more than 5,000 applications were refused and recommended for criminal investigation.
Hardly any made it to court.
Oscar van Heerden, a political analyst at the University of Johannesburg, said the bitter emotion of relatives at the Cradock Four inquiry showed wounds have not healed.
'Where it was felt that truth was not spoken and there wasn't sufficient evidence to warrant forgiveness, those were cases that were supposed to be formally charged, prosecuted and justice should have prevailed,' van Heerden said. 'None of that happened.'
The failure by post-apartheid governments for 25 years to pursue cases is now being scrutinized. Frustrated, the families of the Cradock Four finally forced authorities to rule last year that there would be a new inquiry into the killings.
They also joined with a group of relatives of other apartheid-era victims to take the South African government to court this year over the failure to investigate so many crimes.
As part of the settlement in that case, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa ordered a national inquiry led by a retired judge into why apartheid-era killers were not brought to justice. The inquiry, which has not opened yet, threatens to expose further uncomfortable moments for South Africa.
While the majority of victims of political violence during apartheid were Black and other people of color, some were white, and families have come together across racial lines. A group of survivors and relatives from the 1993 Highgate Hotel massacre, where unknown men opened fire in a bar full of white customers, joined with the Cradock Four families and others in the case against the government.
They allege that post-apartheid authorities deliberately blocked investigations.
Other inquests have been reopened, including one into the 1967 death of Albert Luthuli, who was president of the banned anti-apartheid African National Congress movement when he was hit by a train. Luthuli's death has been viewed with suspicion for more than 50 years.
At the Cradock Four inquiry, which is expected to resume in October for more testimony, Howard Varney, a lawyer for the families, said this is their last chance to know the truth.
The new inquiry has attempted to retrace the killings, from the moment of the men's abduction at a nighttime police roadblock to the time their bodies were discovered, burned and with signs of torture. The families also want a former military commander and ex-police officers who may have knowledge of the killings to testify.
Lukhanyo Calata, the son of Fort Calata, said he accepted it was unlikely anyone would ever be prosecuted over the death of his father and his friends Mhlauli, Matthew Goniwe and Sparrow Mkonto. But he said he wants official records to finally show who killed them.
'Justice now can really only come in the form of truth,' Lukhanyo Calata told The Associated Press. 'They may not have been prosecuted, they may not have been convicted, but according to court records, this is the truth around the murders of the Cradock Four.'
Gumede writes for the Associated Press.
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Boston Globe
an hour ago
- Boston Globe
At Embrace Ideas Festival, Black Bostonians discussed politics, art, business
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Chicago Tribune
an hour ago
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Alexander Polikoff, public-interest lawyer behind landmark CHA segregation case, dies
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In 1965, he filed a lawsuit in Lake County on behalf of four pupils to force Waukegan's elementary school board to reorganize school boundaries in order to meet integration standards. The Illinois Supreme Court in 1968 ruled favorably on Polikoff's contention that race could be taken into account to redraw school district boundary lines to achieve integration. The longest battle of Polikoff's career started in 1966, when he represented a group of Black Chicago Housing Authority residents in a federal class-action lawsuit. The case is known by the name of one of those residents, tenant activist Dorothy Gautreaux. Polikoff alleged that the CHA had practiced racial segregation by building most of its public housing complexes in Black neighborhoods and had deliberately placed Black residents in those complexes. In 1969, Judge Richard Austin concluded that the CHA had discriminated against Blacks in violation of the U.S. Constitution's equal-protection clause and Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which barred racial discrimination in any program receiving federal aid. Austin also ruled that three public housing units must be built in white areas for every similar unit built in a Black neighborhood. White aldermen refused to approve sites for new construction. The CHA also dragged its feet by simply stopping building instead of following Austin's directives. In 1976, the U.S. Supreme Court, ruling on an appeal from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development, unanimously concluded that the CHA had practiced segregation. Justices found that the CHA's problems were regional in nature, and that solutions could occur both in the city and the suburbs. Austin then expanded his order to include the entire metro area as an option for scattered-site housing. However, suburbs resisted new construction of lower-income scattered-site housing. A 1981 consent decree in the case placed CHA tenants in existing area housing and gave them federal Section 8 rent subsidies. 'The whole idea was to take the thinking beyond the Supreme Court's 1954 Brown vs. Board of Education ruling that ended school segregation and transfer it to the area of housing,' Polikoff told the Tribune in 1994. '(The) CHA's policy since the early 1950s worked to make each of its 168 high-rise buildings virtually 100% Black. It was illegal, immoral and socially disastrous to pile poor people on top of poor people.' The CHA eventually altered its operations and demolished numerous high-rises such as Cabrini-Green, the Henry Horner Homes and the Robert Taylor Homes in favor of scattered-site housing. The federal government ended its oversight of the CHA in 2019. At 92 years old, Polikoff was still involved in the case. 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It also successfully fought plans for a nuclear power plant near Chesterton, Indiana, on the border of the 12,500-acre Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, winning a key court fight in 1974 when a three-judge panel of federal judges halted construction. The utility Northern Indiana Public Service Co. formally abandoned plans for a nuclear plant on the site in 1981. And pressure from Polikoff and his colleagues at BPI and from the Citizens Utility Board spurred utility Commonwealth Edison Co. to announce the settlement of 10 years of rate-case litigation in October 1993 with a record $1.34 billion refund to rate-payers. Polikoff's 'vision and passion inspired many of us,' recalled Environmental Law & Policy Center CEO Howard Learner, BPI's former general counsel and the lead consumer lawyer in ComEd settlement negotiations. 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Yahoo
3 hours ago
- Yahoo
Trump Celebrates Juneteenth With Wild Rant Threatening to Cancel It
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