ZWELAKHE Sisulu had kept out of the public spotlight for some time prior to his death last Thursday. Which might explain why his passing initially did not seem to get the attention it deserves.
But there is no question that history will regard him as one of the leading figures of our time, especially in media.
It's difficult to put Zwelakhe in a box. He was a journalist who towered over his peers; he was also a political activist.
The one tended to feed off the other. Lately, of course, he became a successful businessman.
But we've known and admired him as a writer and a leader. He touched many lives. It is also during such sad occasions that, in recounting the lives of important figures, we relive some of the momentous events we've lived through, or those that got us to where we are today.
I remember my first meeting with Zwelakhe as if it was yesterday. Meeting is probably not the word. He happened on me. The year was 1978. I had just started as a cadet reporter at SA Associated Newspapers (SAAN), then publishers of Rand Daily Mail, Sunday Times and Sunday Express.
I was in the SAAN library one afternoon when in came this confident man, and without even a hello, he bellowed: "Are you so and so from PE?"
Startled, I mumbled something in the negative. And he was out of the room as quickly as he had come in.
"It's Zwelakhe Sisulu" the library assistant whispered helpfully, as if in awe.
Of course I had seen his by-line.
I was to know him better as I found my bearing. Zwelakhe was suave, charismatic, comfortable in his own skin, a natty dresser, erudite, articulate, with a voice that commanded authority. He was the complete package.
His interest was what was referred to as extra-parliamentary politics or resistance politics. He had contacts both inside and outside the country.
He wrote about people the government at the time regarded as enemies of the state or activities detrimental to state security. He was giving voice to people who would otherwise not be heard. Those were dangerous times.
With his father serving life on Robben Island, his mother under constant surveillance by the "system" and some of his siblings in exile, perhaps Zwelakhe saw his journalism as his own contribution to the cause. For him the personal or professional often merged with the political.
The late 70s were a turning point in South Africa. They set the scene for what was to happen in the 80s and 90s.
Soweto had erupted in June 1976, igniting an explosion throughout the country. The country's jails were filled with rebellious schoolchildren. Others had fled the country to swell the ranks of the liberation movements in exile.
Leaders of South African Students Organisation and Black People's Convention were rounded up and later sentenced to long term imprisonment on Robben Island. In September 1977, Steve Biko, father of black consciousness, died in police detention in Pretoria under mysterious circumstances.
In an attempt to quell the outcry following Biko's murder, the state in what was to be known as Black Wednesday, cracked down on the Union of Black Journalists (UBJ), Christian Institute and publications such as The World, Weekend World and Pro Veritate.
Well-known journalists such as Percy Qoboza, editor of The World, his deputy Aggrey Klaaste, Joe Thloloe and many others were detained for long spells without trial. It was an attempt by the state to silence its critics.
These events provoked a lot of soul-searching among black journalists. Were they mere recorders of events or part of a community in turmoil, in pain and under attack?
Is it possible to be "objective" when reporting on apartheid, which affected them as well? Black journalist decided they were blacks first and journalists second. They were not immune from the slings and arrows of apartheid. Needless to say, that caused an outcry among the purists in the media.
The banning of the UBJ had left black journalists without an organisation to articulate their views.
That led to the formation of the Media Workers Association of South Africa - in line with black journalists seeing themselves as part of the wider black community - represent all media workers irrespective of status or skill. Zwelakhe became Mwasa's president.
Mwasa was soon to declare a dispute with employers over salaries and their refusal to recognise the union.
Zwelakhe led black media workers mainly from SAAN and Argus Company (now Independent Newspapers) out on strike in what turned out probably to be the biggest and longest strike by media workers in the country's history.
Strikers would congregate at the union offices in Wanderers Street in Johannesburg or at the DOCC in Orlando East to mobilise public support. Black political figures such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Nthato Motlana agreed to refuse to be interviewed by the press until the dispute was resolved to the strikers' satisfaction.
Jomo Sono, who had opened the first Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in Soweto, would occasionally drop by at DOCC armed with a bucket of chicken.
I remember Zwelakhe addressing the Committee of Ten in Orlando West, Soweto. He gave such a powerful speech that afterwards some members of the committee demanded that he be co-opted into its leadership.
Though the strike did advance the cause of media workers, it was not without casualties. Zwelakhe and other strike leaders were banned and later detained without trial. PostTransvaal and Sunday Post ceased publication, later to be succeeded by Sowetan.
After his release, Zwelakhe became editor of The New Nation, a newspaper funded by the Catholic Church. In 1994 he became the SABC CEO.
His appointment was the culmination of a campaign by civil society to transform the SABC from a government propaganda mouthpiece to a truly independent public broadcaster.
Zwelakhe brought some of the best journalists to the SABC - Ameen Akhalwaya, Joe Thloloe, Allister Sparks, Govin Reddy, Jill Chisholm - all relishing the opportunity to at last turn the SABC into a force for public good.
The SABC lived by an editorial code that compared with the best in the world. Editorial independence was not a figment; it was practised. Sparks, who served as head of television news, refers to Zwelakhe's tenure as the SABC's own Prague Spring. It's all gone up in smoke now.
Zwelakhe was not out to appease or please anybody. He knew the political terrain or the new establishment like the back of his hand. After all, he was of the same fabric. Unlike his successors, he was not out to curry favour with anybody.
He saw it as his responsibility not to kowtow to politicians, but to create space for journalists and producers to do their work and to protect them from political pressure. He took the bullet for them. Sadly his successors have failed miserably to live up to such a credo.
His many international awards are a testament to his leadership and his unstinting commitment to an open society.
He has run his race. He leaves a magnificent legacy. But he left too soon.
- Mthombothi is editor of the Financial Mail
He leaves a magnificent legacy
ZWELAKHE Sisulu had kept out of the public spotlight for some time prior to his death last Thursday. Which might explain why his passing initially did not seem to get the attention it deserves.
But there is no question that history will regard him as one of the leading figures of our time, especially in media.
It's difficult to put Zwelakhe in a box. He was a journalist who towered over his peers; he was also a political activist.
The one tended to feed off the other. Lately, of course, he became a successful businessman.
But we've known and admired him as a writer and a leader. He touched many lives. It is also during such sad occasions that, in recounting the lives of important figures, we relive some of the momentous events we've lived through, or those that got us to where we are today.
I remember my first meeting with Zwelakhe as if it was yesterday. Meeting is probably not the word. He happened on me. The year was 1978. I had just started as a cadet reporter at SA Associated Newspapers (SAAN), then publishers of Rand Daily Mail, Sunday Times and Sunday Express.
I was in the SAAN library one afternoon when in came this confident man, and without even a hello, he bellowed: "Are you so and so from PE?"
Startled, I mumbled something in the negative. And he was out of the room as quickly as he had come in.
"It's Zwelakhe Sisulu" the library assistant whispered helpfully, as if in awe.
Of course I had seen his by-line.
I was to know him better as I found my bearing. Zwelakhe was suave, charismatic, comfortable in his own skin, a natty dresser, erudite, articulate, with a voice that commanded authority. He was the complete package.
His interest was what was referred to as extra-parliamentary politics or resistance politics. He had contacts both inside and outside the country.
He wrote about people the government at the time regarded as enemies of the state or activities detrimental to state security. He was giving voice to people who would otherwise not be heard. Those were dangerous times.
With his father serving life on Robben Island, his mother under constant surveillance by the "system" and some of his siblings in exile, perhaps Zwelakhe saw his journalism as his own contribution to the cause. For him the personal or professional often merged with the political.
The late 70s were a turning point in South Africa. They set the scene for what was to happen in the 80s and 90s.
Soweto had erupted in June 1976, igniting an explosion throughout the country. The country's jails were filled with rebellious schoolchildren. Others had fled the country to swell the ranks of the liberation movements in exile.
Leaders of South African Students Organisation and Black People's Convention were rounded up and later sentenced to long term imprisonment on Robben Island. In September 1977, Steve Biko, father of black consciousness, died in police detention in Pretoria under mysterious circumstances.
In an attempt to quell the outcry following Biko's murder, the state in what was to be known as Black Wednesday, cracked down on the Union of Black Journalists (UBJ), Christian Institute and publications such as The World, Weekend World and Pro Veritate.
Well-known journalists such as Percy Qoboza, editor of The World, his deputy Aggrey Klaaste, Joe Thloloe and many others were detained for long spells without trial. It was an attempt by the state to silence its critics.
These events provoked a lot of soul-searching among black journalists. Were they mere recorders of events or part of a community in turmoil, in pain and under attack?
Is it possible to be "objective" when reporting on apartheid, which affected them as well? Black journalist decided they were blacks first and journalists second. They were not immune from the slings and arrows of apartheid. Needless to say, that caused an outcry among the purists in the media.
The banning of the UBJ had left black journalists without an organisation to articulate their views.
That led to the formation of the Media Workers Association of South Africa - in line with black journalists seeing themselves as part of the wider black community - represent all media workers irrespective of status or skill. Zwelakhe became Mwasa's president.
Mwasa was soon to declare a dispute with employers over salaries and their refusal to recognise the union.
Zwelakhe led black media workers mainly from SAAN and Argus Company (now Independent Newspapers) out on strike in what turned out probably to be the biggest and longest strike by media workers in the country's history.
Strikers would congregate at the union offices in Wanderers Street in Johannesburg or at the DOCC in Orlando East to mobilise public support. Black political figures such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Nthato Motlana agreed to refuse to be interviewed by the press until the dispute was resolved to the strikers' satisfaction.
Jomo Sono, who had opened the first Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet in Soweto, would occasionally drop by at DOCC armed with a bucket of chicken.
I remember Zwelakhe addressing the Committee of Ten in Orlando West, Soweto. He gave such a powerful speech that afterwards some members of the committee demanded that he be co-opted into its leadership.
Though the strike did advance the cause of media workers, it was not without casualties. Zwelakhe and other strike leaders were banned and later detained without trial. PostTransvaal and Sunday Post ceased publication, later to be succeeded by Sowetan.
After his release, Zwelakhe became editor of The New Nation, a newspaper funded by the Catholic Church. In 1994 he became the SABC CEO.
His appointment was the culmination of a campaign by civil society to transform the SABC from a government propaganda mouthpiece to a truly independent public broadcaster.
Zwelakhe brought some of the best journalists to the SABC - Ameen Akhalwaya, Joe Thloloe, Allister Sparks, Govin Reddy, Jill Chisholm - all relishing the opportunity to at last turn the SABC into a force for public good.
The SABC lived by an editorial code that compared with the best in the world. Editorial independence was not a figment; it was practised. Sparks, who served as head of television news, refers to Zwelakhe's tenure as the SABC's own Prague Spring. It's all gone up in smoke now.
Zwelakhe was not out to appease or please anybody. He knew the political terrain or the new establishment like the back of his hand. After all, he was of the same fabric. Unlike his successors, he was not out to curry favour with anybody.
He saw it as his responsibility not to kowtow to politicians, but to create space for journalists and producers to do their work and to protect them from political pressure. He took the bullet for them. Sadly his successors have failed miserably to live up to such a credo.
His many international awards are a testament to his leadership and his unstinting commitment to an open society.
He has run his race. He leaves a magnificent legacy. But he left too soon.
Would you like to comment on this article?
Register (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.
Trending
Latest Videos