'The judiciary must accept that its integrity is earned through fearless accountability'

IOL News

13 hours ago

Chief Justice Mandisa Maya speaking at the 30th anniversarycelebrations of the Constitutional Court. The judiciary in South Africa often conducts itself as though it exists outside the moral and political realities of the society it serves, projecting an image of unassailable integrity, as if immune to the corruption that permeates other sectors, says the writer.
Image: Jairus Mmutle/GCIS
Clyde N.S. Ramalaine
In democratic theory, the judiciary is often revered as the last line of defence against tyranny, arbitrariness, and impunity. Yet in practice, no institution should be considered immune to the social and political decay it adjudicates.
The recent response by the Office of Chief Justice Mandisa Maya to explosive allegations by KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner, Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, offers a revealing window into the judiciary's posture when confronted with internal accountability.
Rather than welcoming scrutiny as a path to institutional purification, the OCJ's letter adopts a tone of cold proceduralism and veiled indignation, positioning itself as the aggrieved party in the face of whistleblowing. This reaction, cloaked in appeals to public confidence and formal reporting channels, exposes a deeper and more precarious trend: a judiciary increasingly allergic to critique, retreating into a defensive reflex that masquerades as integrity.
In this regard, Chief Justice Mandisa Maya appears to continue the defensive trajectory set by her predecessor, former Chief Justice Raymond Zondo, who became increasingly known for his political interventions, particularly in moments when critical public commentary about the judiciary was raised.
Zondo notably demanded an apology from politician Lindiwe Sisulu after she exercised poetic licence in her critique of the judiciary, drawing on a provocative phrase borrowed from American racial discourse, 'house and field niggers', to characterise perceived divisions and loyalties within South Africa's judicial ranks.
The response by the Office of Chief Justice Mandisa Maya to Lt. General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi's allegations is revealing, less for what it explicitly states and more for the posture it adopts. At face value, the OCJ's demand for 'credible evidence' and its warning that 'unsubstantiated claims can severely erode public confidence' in democratic institutions appear procedurally sound and appropriately cautious. However, when situated within the broader political climate and the weight of the allegations, this letter reads more like a strategic act of institutional defensiveness than a sincere commitment to truth-seeking or democratic transparency.
The judiciary, by asserting that such allegations 'erode public confidence,' effectively reverses the burden, indirectly attempting to discipline the whistleblower rather than reflect critically on the legitimacy of the concerns raised. This is problematic. Mkhwanazi did not offer vague or populist sentiment; he made direct claims about the dismantling of police investigative structures and the shielding of political interests, naming Minister Senzo Mchunu and implicating parts of the justice system.
These are not casual assertions; they are whistleblowing interventions made by a senior law enforcement officer in a context of systemic rot. The OCJ office will forgive us for deducing from its letter that the judiciary's tone, however, appears less concerned with institutional accountability than with preserving its image.
Moreover, the suggestion that Mkhwanazi must use "formal reporting mechanisms" reveals an ironic detachment from the very reality he is exposing. If the allegation is that formal structures themselves are compromised, what good is a reporting mechanism that routes evidence through those same channels? This response seems to ignore the foundational lesson from South Africa's recent history of state capture: whistleblowers often had to go public precisely because formal structures had become captured, bureaucratised, or unresponsive.
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Additionally, the judiciary's statement fails to acknowledge its embeddedness within a broader political system. It repeats the often-invoked but increasingly hollow idea of judicial impartiality, positioning the courts as neutral custodians of justice while ignoring the growing public scepticism about the politicisation of judicial appointments, inconsistent prosecutorial outcomes, and institutional inertia in high-profile cases. If the judiciary wishes to preserve public trust, it must do more than demand silence in the absence of documentation; it must demonstrate that it takes all allegations seriously, not just those that are politically convenient.
Finally, the tone of the letter, couched in institutional concern, belies a deeper anxiety. The judiciary, like all organs of state, is not beyond scrutiny. South Africa's democratic ethos does not grant sacred status to any sector. Rather than deflect, the judiciary should embrace the opportunity to investigate itself, to reaffirm its legitimacy through transparency, and to actively protect whistleblowers like Mkhwanazi, whose bravery may be unsettling but whose voice is necessary.
To underscore the judiciary as the full expression of a South African society, we only have to remind ourselves of a recent interview conducted by the Judicial Services Commission. Judge President L.T. Tlaletsi, during his recent appearance before the Judicial Service Commission, initially downplayed the relevance of the judiciary's newly developed sexual harassment policy by suggesting that sexual harassment was not a significant issue within the judiciary.
However, his stance was swiftly challenged by Commissioner Tembeka Ngcukaitobi, who pointed out the glaring dissonance in such a claim. Ngcukaitobi highlighted that everyone present at the proceedings was well aware of incidents of inappropriate and unacceptable conduct among members of the judiciary, even if such cases had not been formally reported.
This exchange not only revealed a concerning gap between leadership perception and institutional reality but also underscored the culture of silence that often surrounds misconduct in judicial spaces. If sexual harassment, despite its denial, is indeed present, then it becomes even more untenable to suggest that the judiciary is immune to other forms of wrongdoing, such as corruption and criminal collusion.
The moment served as a powerful reminder that institutional integrity cannot be preserved through denial or procedural formalism but through transparent acknowledgement, accountability, and reform.
The judiciary in South Africa often conducts itself as though it exists outside the moral and political realities of the society it serves, projecting an image of unassailable integrity, as if immune to the corruption that permeates other sectors. This perception is not only misleading but fundamentally unsustainable. Judges are not chosen from a separate moral universe; they are products of the same society, appointed through political processes, often by ruling party leaders.
Many have never built independent or successful legal practices, opting instead for judicial office as a stable career path offering pension security. Their elevation depends on interviews before the Judicial Service Commission, an inherently political body. In a country where corruption is endemic and where no institution is beyond scrutiny, the notion that the judiciary is somehow exempt from compromise defies logic and reality.
When Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi bravely tells the nation that politicians, the police, and the judiciary form part of South Africa's crime problem, it goes without saying that, as an admitted attorney, he would not make such serious allegations recklessly or without a substantive basis. It is therefore untenable for the public to be duped into imagining the judiciary, a present and functioning sector of society, as somehow exempt from such implications.
On the contrary, any such allegation, regardless of the target, warrants full and impartial investigation. To shield the judiciary from public accountability based on presumed moral superiority is to ignore its embeddedness in the very social fabric it is meant to adjudicate. If transformation and transparency are to be pursued meaningfully, the judiciary cannot be treated as sacrosanct.
The critical question remains: Does the OCJ's response genuinely inspire confidence in whistleblowers like Lieutenant General Mkhwanazi, or does it serve as a warning to future truth-tellers to remain silent?
By focusing on the supposed dangers of "unsubstantiated allegations" rather than the urgent substance of Mkhwanazi's claims, the judiciary appears more concerned with reputational management than institutional accountability. This defensive posture not only undermines Mkhwanazi's credibility but also sends a discouraging signal to others within the state apparatus who may be privy to corruption or criminal collusion.
If the judiciary cannot distinguish between malicious slander and principled whistleblowing, especially from a senior officer with legal training, then it risks reinforcing a culture of fear, deterring future disclosures, and eroding the very democratic values it claims to protect.
I dare assert the statement issued by the Office of the Chief Justice (OCJ) does little to inspire confidence in Lieutenant General Mkhwanazi, or in any future whistleblowers who may come forward with uncomfortable truths about systemic corruption.
Rather than signalling a willingness to engage the substance of Mkhwanazi's claims with seriousness and impartiality, the OCJ adopts a defensive tone that shifts focus to the potential damage of "unsubstantiated allegations" on public trust.
This framing subtly disciplines the whistleblower while evading institutional introspection. Instead of reinforcing a culture of accountability, the OCJ's response risks entrenching the very culture of silence and fear that has long discouraged insiders from exposing misconduct.
If the judiciary responds to courageous disclosures with procedural gatekeeping and implied censure, it sends a chilling message to potential whistleblowers: speak out, and you will be met with institutional rebuke, not support. Such a stance is fundamentally at odds with the values of transparency, justice, and democratic renewal.
South Africa does not need another mythologised sector draped in self-righteous untouchability. If the judiciary is to maintain public confidence, it must do so not through declarations of purity but through demonstrable transparency and an unwavering commitment to introspection. When Lt. General Mkhwanazi calls out institutional decay, including within the justice system, the appropriate institutional response is not deflection or bureaucratic indignation, but a willingness to interrogate uncomfortable truths.
Just as the judiciary cannot claim to be free from the scourge of sexual harassment, as the recent exchange between Judge President Tlaletsi and Commissioner Ngcukaitobi made clear, so too can it not claim exemption from the possibilities of corruption, bias, or systemic failure. Public trust is not sustained by denial, but by the courage to confront complicity. To restore what remains of that trust, the judiciary must accept that its integrity is not innate; it must be earned, preserved, and proven through fearless accountability.
* 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.