Shepherds and Butchers

by Chris Marnewick

  I wished I was far away from there, perhaps in a nice shipping case with lots of documentary exhibits and fees paid in pounds sterling or US dollars. There was a sobering message for me on another part of the wall, however:

  DON’T TALK ABOUT

  SHIPS OR SHIPPING

  When Wierda had completed the briefing, I called for the cell sergeant. Our brief sojourn in the cell confronted me yet again with the claustrophobia of life in prison. The sergeant followed us into the courtroom through the steps leading up into the dock.

  The most difficult and unpredictable part of the trial was about to begin.

  Palace of Justice

  14

  The Court started promptly at two-fifteen. The defence experts had taken seats at Roshnee’s table, directly behind me. Marianne Schlebusch and Dr Shapiro sat ready to observe and to give advice, but for the time being all eyes were on the defendant.

  I stood up and announced, ‘We call Leon Albert Labuschagne.’

  The spectators strained to get a better look at him. For the first time during the trial he had to face those at the back of the court.

  The registrar administered the oath.

  I started with the first topic in our prepared timeline. It would take at least two days, perhaps three, to cover all the prepared topics, and I started slowly. Labuschagne’s eyes darted from left to right, from the bench to me and back to the bench again, but never to the spectators behind me.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty.’ He coughed to clear his throat. He had turned twenty a month before the trial.

  ‘Where did you go to school?’

  We carried on in that vein for a while, covering his early years and his last two years at school. Labuschagne was patently nervous; how could he not be?

  ‘So what did you decide to do for a career as you approached your final school examinations?’

  ‘I was recruited by the Prisons Service.’

  ‘Why did you join?’

  ‘They said that if I joined the Prisons Service I would not have to go to the army.’

  We were fighting a war in Angola and many young men joined the police or Prisons Service to avoid being sent to Angola.

  ‘Once you had joined, where were you posted?’

  ‘The training college in Kroonstad.’

  ‘How did your training go?’ It was like pulling teeth, but at least he did not talk too much.

  ‘The training was cut short after three months because of a manpower shortage. I was then posted to Central Prison.’

  ‘How long were you at Central?’

  ‘For about two months.’

  ‘Where did you go from there?’

  ‘I was sent to Maximum Security Prison.’

  ‘How did that come about?’ The question called for an explanation and Labuschagne had to do the talking without prompting from me.

  ‘I got into trouble for sleeping when I was on night shift. The Commanding Officer of the prison held a surprise inspection of the prison at four o’clock in the morning. He said I was sleeping on duty and he then transferred me to Maximum as punishment.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘May, the year before last.’ 1986.

  ‘How old were you then?’ I asked, although everyone could work it out.

  ’Seventeen.’

  ‘Did you know what your duties would be in Maximum?’

  ’No, sir.’

  ‘What was the date of your transfer to Maximum?’

  ‘It was the middle of 1986, towards the end of July.’ I looked up from my notes. There was a pause before he corrected himself. ‘No, sorry, it was June.’

  We were still dealing with background matters, and it would be a tedious and slow affair to get all the evidence before the Court, but it had to be done. We were in for a long afternoon. Judge van Zyl yawned and looked at the clock. I decided to deal with something more dramatic.

  ‘Could you please tell the Court about your first day at Maximum?’

  ‘I reported for duty at seven in the morning on the twenty-third of June 1986. The Warrant Officer took me around the different sections of the prison and told me what my duties would be. He first took me to the administration section next to the Major’s office and marked my name on the roster for the day shift. Then he showed me the cells in A Section.’ It was a prepared answer.

  ‘What else did the Warrant Officer do?’

  ‘He took me to the Major’s office. They told me how important secrecy was. Basically they said that if I should speak to anyone, even my wife, about anything to do with the work or anything that happens inside the prison, I would be fired on the spot. They made me sign a document that said something about official secrets.’ Another prepared answer. We had many of them.

  ‘Where was the Major during this induction into prison culture?’ I was still keeping my promise not to mention any names.

  ‘I think he was doing the morning roll call in the cell blocks.’

  ‘Where did you go from the Major’s office?’

  ‘From there the Warrant Officer took me to A and B sections. He showed me that the black, coloured and Indian prisoners were in A Section and the white prisoners in C Section. There was only one prisoner in B Section.’

  ‘What did you do the rest of the day?’ I wanted to get to the next day’s events before the Judge lost interest.

  ‘I spent the rest of the day with the Warrant Officer. I had to go everywhere with him.’

  ‘Did anything in particular happen that day?’ I asked as I made a tick in the margin of the notes in my trial notebook to indicate that the particular subject had been dealt with. There were many topics to cover still before Labuschagne would be handed over for cross-examination.

  ‘In the afternoon ten new prisoners came,’ he said. I waited for Labuschagne to continue. He did not need to be asked for every little detail and would have to get used to the idea that the information had to come from him.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, slightly impatient.

  ‘The Warrant Officer called me and told me to see how the admin was done when they were taken in.’

  ‘Please tell the Court what the procedures are.’

  ‘There were ten. Two came from Johannesburg, five from Pretoria, two from Cape Town and one from Mossel Bay.’ Labuschagne looked at me and then added, ‘Do you want their details?’

  ‘In a minute,’ I said. ‘I’d like to know what you did with them and I want you to remember not to mention any names.’

  Labuschagne looked up towards the Judge and Assessors and then said, almost inaudibly, ‘We hanged them, sir.’

  The Judge leaned across towards the witness box as he intervened. ‘Could you say that again? I could not hear you. And remember to speak up.’

  Labuschagne glanced nervously at the Judge. ‘We hanged them, sir. They are dead.’

  I tapped on my trial notebook with my pen.

  ‘No, we’ll get to that later,’ I said. ‘What I want to know is how they were processed on their arrival that day.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ he said. ‘They were still in their own clothes. They had their death warrants with them. First we put their fingerprints on the death warrants. Then their details were written in a register and they were given their V-numbers.’

  ‘What is the significance of the V-numbers?’

  ‘Every prisoner in Maximum gets a V-number.’

  ‘What do the V-numbers signify?’ the Judge wanted to know.

  ‘The V is for Veroordeelde,’ said Labuschagne.

  When Judge van Zyl nodded in my direction, I started laying one of the cornerstones of our case. ‘How did the new prisoners react or behave during the admission processes?’

  ‘Nervous and afraid. Some cried. I think they thought they were going to be hanged immediately.’

  ‘How were you affected by this?’

  ‘I was also nervous and afraid.’ Labuschagne’s voice was too low and he had to be reminded to speak up.
<
br />   ‘Speak up so that we can hear you, please,’ I said. ‘Do you have the details of the prisoners who were admitted that day?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is in the register.’

  ‘Are you referring to the Register of Capital Cases kept by the Chief Registrar of this Court?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I turned slightly to face Judge van Zyl square on. ‘M’Lord, I ask leave to place a copy of the register before the witness. The original register is available at the Chief Registrar’s office, but since it is in daily use we have decided to make copies instead. I offer to prove the original by calling the registrar if there should be any dispute about the admissibility or correctness of the copy my Learned Junior has prepared. I have copies for M’Lord and the Learned Assessors as well as our Learned Friends.’

  When there was no reaction from Judge van Zyl or James Murray I turned towards Wierda and held out my hand. He stood up and took eleven identical lever arch files from Roshnee’s desk and handed them to the usher for distribution. All of this took some time.

  I waited until the Judge and Assessors had received their sets from the registrar before I continued. ‘I have taken the liberty of marking this register, or rather, this copy of the register, as Exhibit G, M’Lord.’ Then I turned my attention back to the witness box.

  ‘Is what you have in front of you a copy of the register you referred to earlier?’ I asked.

  Labuschagne opened the file and after glancing over a few pages nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What we have here are eight columns spread over the two facing pages. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Each column has its own heading, starting with the first column on the left-hand side of the page: Serial No, Name, V-NO, Place Sentenced, Date, Judge, Outcome and Date.’ I followed the columns with my finger and kept one eye on the Judge and his Assessors to make sure that they were following the evidence.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Labuschagne without waiting for a question or a prompt.

  ‘Please turn to the page reflecting the admissions on your first day at Maximum, the twenty-third of June 1986.’ I waited for him to find the page. When he stopped paging through the file and looked at me again I turned to the Judge and said, ‘May I ask if M’Lord has found the page?’

  The Judge did a quick check with his Assessors and nodded. ‘We’ve got it. Carry on.’

  I returned my attention to Labuschagne. ‘Can you confirm the details set out on that page?’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I was present when they came in.’

  I stopped and waited while the Judge, the Assessors and the prosecutors studied the document. Their eyes darted across the rows and columns. One of the Assessors bit his lip. Then he looked at Labuschagne – for the first time, it seemed to me.

  SERIAL NO NAME V-NO PLACE SENTENCED DATE JUDGE OUTCOME DATE

  4419 Alfred Tshupeng V3550 Johannesburg 23.6.86 O’Donovan Executed 21.11.86

  4420 Elvis Boima V3551 Johannesburg 23.6.86 O’Donovan Executed 21.11.86

  4421 Selby Magubane V3552 Pretoria 23.6.86 W Hartzenberg Executed 26.11.86

  4422 Jonas Malatso V3553 Pretoria 23.6.86 W Hartzenberg Executed 26.11.86

  4423 Walter Mtshali V3554 Pretoria 23.6.86 W Hartzenberg Executed 26.11.86

  4424 Bafana Muneka V3555 Pretoria 23.6.86 W Hartzenberg Executed 26.11.86

  4425 Nicolas Mtshali V3556 Pretoria 23.6.86 W Hartzenberg Executed 26.11.86

  4426 Eric Ntsali V3557 Cape Town 18.6.86 Baker Executed 5.12.86

  4427 Dawid Lourens V3558 Mossel Bay 13.6.86 Williamson Executed 03.04.87

  4428 John Swarts V3559 Cape Town 13.6.86 v. Schalkwyk Executed 25.8.87

  Judge van Zyl looked up, my signal to resume.

  ‘Are these the ten prisoners who were admitted on your first day at Maximum?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Before we move on to other matters, could you tell the Court how well you had got to know these men by the time they were hanged?’

  ‘Very well,’ he said.

  I left the answer at that for the time being. It was one of the main themes of our case and I would have to explore it in more detail later.

  I made eye contact with Labuschagne. ‘What did you do with these prisoners after they had been given their V-numbers?’

  ‘We gave them prison clothing and Bibles and short toothbrushes. The admin people took photographs of them. The Warrant Officer then told them the rules. After that we had to take them to their cells.’

  ‘Could you please tell His Lordship and the Learned Assessors what the main rules were that were explained to the prisoners?’

  I listened with half an ear as he spoke of supervised visits from their lawyers, their family and their pastors. The prisoners were not allowed to speak to anyone about their treatment in the prison. They could write and receive letters but the letters would be censored. They had to clean their own cells every day before the Major’s rounds at ten o’clock. They had to address all warders as sir and had to stand up with their hands by their sides when spoken to by a warder. Under no circumstances were they to make eye contact with a warder. Any breach of these rules would result in a withdrawal of privileges. Their visits could be curtailed, their correspondence would be withheld and in severe cases they could be locked in isolation cells and put on a restricted diet. These were the official punishments, according to Labuschagne.

  ‘Were there unofficial punishments?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I watched as he swallowed.

  It was getting late in the day and we were all tired. I looked at my watch and when I looked up I saw the Judge also looking at the clock.

  ‘To recap then, you were present when these prisoners were admitted and you were present when they were executed later?’

  Labuschagne was caught off guard and took a moment to study the list again. ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘How well did you get to know them before they were hanged?’

  He swallowed again. ‘Very well.’ He was not comfortable with this subject, I thought.

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘I spent all my time with them.’

  ‘Where were the other warders during those times?’ I asked.

  ‘They were in their own sections,’ he said. ‘Every warder is locked in with the prisoners in his own section.’

  It was time to adjourn for the day but I wanted to get a last point in.

  ‘And then, on the appointed day, you took them up to the gallows,’ I suggested in a leading question.

  The answer was monosyllabic. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You stood next to them as the ropes were put over their heads?’

  ‘Yes.’ Labuschagne licked his lips. I kept the pace up. He could have a drink of water after I had finished.

  ‘And you went down into the pit and took them off the rope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you put them in coffins, took them to the chapel, sat through a funeral service with their relatives and eventually went out and buried them?’

  ‘Yes, and registered their deaths,’ he added.

  I could not resist the last question.

  ‘You had read the Bible to these men, and then you took them up to be hanged?’ It was another leading question but there was no objection.

  ‘Yes.’

  During the last few exchanges of questions and answers I had noticed that Judge van Zyl was watching me. I met his eye and asked if it would be convenient to adjourn to the next day.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘the Court is adjourned until ten tomorrow. The defendant is to remain in custody.’ It was a ritual we went through every afternoon at the end of the day’s work.

  Labuschagne was taken back to his cell. Roshnee went over to speak to his parents. Antoinette Labuschagne and her parents were the last to leave the courtroom. They stood and watched in silence as Labuschagne was escorted down the staircase to Cell 6. I asked Wierda to comfort them and arrang
ed to meet him at his chambers.

  Roshnee returned to the hotel. She had to run her practice by telephone and fax machine. Her mother was looking after her children. I had given up trying to keep abreast of events in Durban.

  Wierda’s secretary brought us coffee as soon as we had sat down.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Wierda asked from the other side of his desk.

  I explained.

  ‘That sounds easy enough,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ I ventured. I had more experience at this than he did – two cases, Moatche and Scheepers – but he would learn soon enough.

  ‘Where do you want me to start?’ asked Wierda, pointing at the file stacker filled with files identical to the ones standing on the floor of my hotel room.

  I thought about it for a while. ‘Let’s do one together and see how it goes.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘who’s next?’

  ‘Wessels,’ I said as I pulled the file from the stacker.

  We finished after dark and I badly needed a drink by then.

  V3615 Johan Christiaan Wessels

  15

  Wessels was eighteen years old when, together with three older men – Christo Viljoen, Frederik Swanepoel and Michael Mynhardt – he was charged with two counts of robbery with aggravating circumstances, rape and murder. They had robbed two men and had gang-raped Miss Elizabeth Mokoena before Wessels and Viljoen murdered her.

  During the evening of 10 January 1986 Wessels, Viljoen and Swanepoel went to a drive-in cinema in Bethlehem and watched the film Mad Max starring Mel Gibson in the title role. They had twenty-four beers and drank most of them there. Afterwards they went to a dance at Loch Athlone. There was an altercation between Viljoen and some other men at the dance. They went to Mynhardt’s house where the drinking continued. They had a bottle of Klipdrift brandy with them and Mynhardt served more brandy from his own stock. They told Mynhardt of the trouble Viljoen had had at the dance. Viljoen asked Mynhardt to help them sort out those other men, who were thought to be soldiers from the Army base nearby. They left in Wessels’ bakkie to look for them. The bakkie was too small to seat all of them in the front so two of them had to ride in the loading bin.