by Ernst Roets
The following day I visited the farm together with Coetzee, two colleagues and a senior reporter at Rapport newspaper. This was the first time that Coetzee had visited the farm since the incident. Our first stop was the old farmhouse, which by that time had been close to being completely demolished. From there we proceeded towards the village. Upon our arrival, a woman started screaming ferociously, running towards one of the houses. She appeared to be calling for someone to draw their attention to our presence. After noticing that her calls seemed to be falling on deaf ears, we approached the woman, who refused to speak to us and simply turned away, clearly distressed. We then noticed a man who looked like a cattle herder walking towards us. He introduced himself as Piet Mahlangu. Mahlangu appeared to be farming on the land. Having asked him in what capacity he was farming on someone else’s land, Mahlangu replied that he was employed on the farm.
At this stage, Coetzee was furious, stating that he had never seen this man, and that he was certainly not one of his employees. Mahlangu then explained that his father was in fact a former employee of Coetzee’s, which, according to Mahlangu, implied that he also had the right to live on and to graze his cattle on the farm. In reply to questions about the attack on Coetzee, Mahlangu shrugged, saying that he knew about the incident, but that he could not comment, as he had not been there when it happened. He then described Sipho – the man who had thrown the first blow at Coetzee – as one of his employees. ‘Where is he? Can we speak to him?’ I asked. Mahlangu shrugged again, saying that he could not tell us where he was, other than that he was somewhere on the farm, busy farming.
Shocking as it might sound, Coetzee’s story is not that unique. Sure, the story about the unknown men pulling up and the police officers who did not seem to care seems appalling, but as you will note from other cases in this book, even the most exceptional parts of this story are not really that exceptional once you put all the pieces together. As a matter of fact, Coetzee was only one of more than ten thousand people who have been attacked on South Africa’s farms and smallholdings and who were fortunate enough to live to tell the tale. About two thousand cases could be verified by 2018 in which the victims had not been that lucky.
It is because of the immensity of this phenomenon (on average, more than one farm attack has been committed every day in South Africa over a period of time covering more than two decades) that Coetzee’s story is not even well known. For this reason it is important to distinguish between farm attacks and farm murders. When we talk of farm attacks we refer to incidents on farms that comply with the definition of a farm attack. All farm murders occur during farm attacks, but not all farm attacks result in murder. However, the point is that farm attacks have become a regular phenomenon in South Africa – to the extent that they are rarely reported in the news. On average, more than one farm murder is committed every week in South Africa. With that reality in mind, who could really blame news outlets for not reporting on farm attacks when no one was killed? What made Coetzee’s case slightly newsworthy, however, were the details, as explained above. But even these details were not enough to bring Coetzee’s case to the public’s notice.1
If you are not a South African citizen, you might ask: how much worse can it get? If this example is not bad enough, what additional elements should be present in a farm attack for it to be engraved in the hearts and minds of the community?
HE IS HERE TO KILL YOU
30 September 2016 ended like a normal day in the lives of Johann (43) and Mariandra Heunis (32). They lived on a smallholding north of Pretoria. Johann was a self-employed cabinetmaker who also farmed with chickens on a small scale, and did work for other farmers too. His dream was to have his own farm and to be a full-time farmer. Johann and Mariandra had met in 2006 and were married in 2009. They had just celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary. The couple had three little girls – Mieke (6), Mischa (4) and Majandré (2). Mariandra was 36 weeks pregnant with their fourth child, a boy, whom they intended naming AJ, after Johann.
Mariandra and Johann had discussed the dangers of living on the smallholding. They had seen the movie Treurgrond (a film in which the lead character and his family are murdered during a farm attack). Johann was really upset by what was happening on South Africa’s farms and smallholdings. They discussed the possibility of moving to the city for the sake of their family. However, they decided to upgrade their security.
That evening, the whole family was upstairs in the living room, watching TV. One by one they fell asleep. Mariandra carried Majandré and Mischa downstairs to their beds. Mieke was tucked in and fast asleep on a little mattress on the floor by the TV. Mariandra decided to let her lie there for a little while longer. She went to lie down on the couch next to her husband and daughter.
The dogs started barking. Mariandra woke up. She tried to wake Johann, but he was very tired. Half asleep, he murmured that it was probably a cat. Mariandra went to check all the windows, but she did not see anything. The dogs did not appear to be too distraught, so she assumed that it was just a cat. She went to lie down again. She heard a sound. It sounded like Mischa coming upstairs to lie with them. She sat up straight and looked over the railing for her daughter, but did not see her coming upwards. Something felt wrong. Having already checked the house and knowing that it was locked up like a prison, Mariandra closed her eyes again. Then she heard another sound. It was the sound of a gun cocking. She opened her eyes. In front of her stood two men, pointing a pistol at her.
Mariandra immediately realised what was happening. She screamed frantically. The attackers also started screaming gesturing that they wanted to push her over. Johann woke up, but remained calm. The men asked for money. Mariandra and Johann both explained that there was no money in the house. Mieke woke up and started moving around in the room, completely distressed by what she was seeing. Johann explained to them where all the valuable items in the house were – the TV, the computers, the car. They could take what they wanted. Johann remained lying on the couch, lifting his head upright with his hand, anchored on his elbow. He was making it clear that he was no threat to them. He kept talking to them in a calm voice. ‘Please just leave us alone. You can take anything you want. Just do not hurt my family,’ he said. ‘This man is a killer,’ said the one attacker, ‘and he is here to kill you.’
Then they opened fire.
They fired the first shot at Mieke. They turned to Johann and started firing at him at close range. The first bullet went straight into his heart. They fired five shots into his body, into his arm, his abdomen and his legs. When Mariandra saw the blood, she prayed for them to leave so that she could take her husband to the hospital. She tried to shield her unborn baby. Mieke was on the other side of the room. The shot had missed her, but she was not able to run to her mother, because the attackers were between them. She then ran to her father, crawling in between him and the back of the couch.
They aggressively grabbed Mariandra by the arm. They told her to go with them downstairs. She refused. They were screaming at each other. In a moment of innocence that befits a six-year-old girl, little Mieke sat down on the mattress. She raised her hand, as if to indicate to the intruders that she had something to say. They did not seem to care. Even though her first language was Afrikaans, she tried her best to address the intruders in English. ‘I’ve got money. You can take my money. I have got a spaarbussie [English: piggy bank],’ she said. She asked them to take her money and leave her mommy alone. They were pulling at Mariandra to go downstairs with them.
Upon hearing his daughter offer to hand over her piggy bank, Johann, who had fallen off the couch by then, stood up and stumbled towards them. He was able to take two steps. By then he was unable to breathe. He was already drowning in his blood, which was also bubbling from his mouth. He looked at the attackers. ‘Please!’
At that moment, the one turned to the other. ‘Just kill him brother.’ Mariandra screamed at the top of her lungs. The man stepped towards Johann, lifting his firearm to Johann’s
face. Mieke screamed: ‘No! No! No! No!’ He pulled the trigger. Johann fell face first on the floor.
They then turned to Mariandra. ‘Where are the other children?’ they asked, sticking the pistol to her head. All she could grab was a nearby pillow, which she desperately shoved between her head and the barrel of the gun. She said that they had done enough and that they should just go. ‘Just go! Just go! Just go! You can take everything. Just go!’
The two men then took the cellphones, casually strolled down the stairs, opened the lock on the front door from the inside and walked out the door.
SLAUGHTER AT LINDLEY
On Saturday, 1 December 2010, Attie Potgieter (40) drove towards his farmhouse outside Lindley, a small town in the central Free State. In his car with him was his wife, Wilna (36), and their little daughter, Wilmien (2). It was Attie and Wilna’s wedding anniversary. Upon their arrival, as Attie got out of the vehicle, a shot was fired at him. He was immediately attacked by six men, armed with a panga (English: machete), a garden fork and a knife. While fighting with Attie, the men also dragged Wilna and Wilmien out of the vehicle.
What followed was a struggle on the lawn around the house during which Attie desperately tried to defend his family from the attackers. Eventually, upon reaching the porch at the backdoor, Attie collapsed. His blood was found on the walls around the house, all the way from his vehicle to the backdoor. He had been hit over the head with a panga, a knife and a garden fork. He had been stabbed 151 times with these objects and he was left dead with the garden fork piercing his neck.
This, of course, happened in full view of his wife and daughter. Wilmien ran to her father. Her feet were covered in his blood and her bloodied footprints were found on the pavement around his body. It is believed that the attackers then picked Wilmien up and carried her to a small storage room. She was shot in the head and thrown in a box, which was later found about half full with her blood.
After having witnessed the murders of her husband and daughter, Wilna was taken into the house, where she was told to open the safe for the attackers. They took R3 300 ($264), then instructed Wilna to kneel and then shot her in the head, executioner style. Wilmien’s little body was then collected from the box and thrown on that of her mother. After all of this had happened, the attackers took a piece of cardboard and wrote the words ‘We have killed them. We are coming back’ in Sotho on it. They then placed the cardboard on the entrance gate to the farm.2
Attie was said to have withdrawn R7 000 ($560) from the bank the day before the attack. The suspects had allegedly paid Attie’s employees R500 ($40) each for the information that they had been given about the family’s activities and movements. Three of the attackers had worked for Attie. The day after the murder took place, the three workers met the son of Attie’s neighbour on a nearby road and told him that their employer was lying dead outside his house. The attackers were arrested shortly thereafter. Credit cards and a 9 mm pistol, all covered in blood, were found in a shack near Lindley. Another firearm was found on the scene. The six men, who were eventually found guilty, were between the ages of 17 and 34. The youngest was found to have wielded the garden fork.
WHAT ARE THEY DOING THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?
During the hours in which the Potgieters were murdered, in Randburg, roughly 230 kilometres (143 miles) away, several youth movements were preparing for a televised debate about imperialism. The panel members were myself (I was the national chairperson of AfriForum Youth at the time), Makashule Gana, who had just been elected leader of the DA Youth, Magdalene Moonsamy, spokesperson for the ANC Youth League (who would later break away from the ANC together with the president of the Youth League, Julius Malema, to form the EFF, for which she would become a member of parliament), and Tiago Vieira, president of the World Federation of Democratic Youth (WFDY) and also a friend and so-called comrade of Malema. Vieira and his movement had been in the country to host the 17th World Festival of Youth and Students. The movement was essentially about promoting socialism and fighting imperialism.
During the debate, Vieira and Moonsamy took a hard line against imperialism in other African countries. I responded, saying that we can indeed engage in discussion about imperialism in Africa, but that there are many atrocities committed in South Africa, farm murders in particular, that deserve our more immediate attention. I also expressed my concern that these murders sometimes occur under the banner of ‘anti-imperialism’. Moonsamy, visibly angry, lashed back. Why were we talking about the killing of white farmers, she wanted to know. ‘What are they doing on those farms in the first place?’ she said, suggesting that white farmers who are killed actually deserve what is coming to them simply because of their being on the land. This was of course said to the great amusement of the audience. Vieira went even further, arguing – in the name of anti-imperialism – that black South Africans have a right to make statements such as ‘kill the whites and sing songs such as ‘‘Kill the Boer!’’ ’, while white South Africans do not have the same so-called right.3
This debate was recorded as Attie, Wilna and Wilmien lay dead on their farm, before anyone – other than the attackers – knew about their murders.
I later wrote to Vieira to bring the killing of the Potgieter family to his attention. In my letter, I also asked him to withdraw his statement about black people having the right to encourage the murder of white people, calling on the WFDY to make a statement to the effect that the encouragement of the killing of white South Africans needed to stop. Vieira did not respond. I also wrote to Urban Brew Studios, where the debate had been recorded, asking for a copy of the video footage. After a long struggle, I finally obtained the footage, only to find that Moonsamy’s suggestion that white farmers deserve to be killed had been edited out. I brought this to the attention of the studio, who simply replied that they did not know how that had happened and that they did not have the complete footage anymore.
However, during the court proceedings of the Potgieters’ murderers, the ANC Women’s League (ANCWL) came out strongly in support of the victims, protesting for harsh punishment of the six accused. While welcoming the ANCWL’s condemnation of the killings, AfriForum’s view was that the ANC should accept responsibility for what had happened. At that time the ANC was involved in a court battle with AfriForum, arguing that black people and/or the ANC had a right to sing songs such as ‘Dubula iBhunu’ (English: Shoot the Boer). According to Kallie Kriel, CEO of AfriForum, the murder of the Potgieters made people all the more bitter because it took place in the same week during which the ANC had been trying to convince the court that the slogan ‘Shoot the Boer’ in ANC songs was not meant literally. ‘People are literally being killed on farms and efforts by the ANC to justify “Shoot the Boer” are absurd,’ Kriel said in a media statement.4
Meanwhile, singer Steve Hofmeyr almost sparked a racial storm in his reaction to the killing of the Potgieter family. ‘Most black people I know are not violent but they slurp up the propaganda of entitlement, which gives young killers what they need to justify their brutality,’ he wrote on Facebook. Hofmeyr was severely criticised for his remarks, most of all by members of the media.5
Two years later, on the anniversary of the Potgieter murders, several hundred farmers marched in Pretoria to the office of the Minister of Police, Nathi Mthethwa, protesting about the continued attacks and the government’s unconcerned attitude. The Minister refused to accept the memorandum or to send a representative to accept it. The marchers were also barred from leaving the memorandum at reception. Shortly thereafter, those who call for the prioritising of farm attacks were described by the Minister as people who seek attention and who are attempting to curb the police’s initiative to address real crime. More on this later.
A LAND OF SORROW
These examples are of course only three out of thousands. Farm attacks have become a unique phenomenon in the post-1990 South African dispensation. Before 1990 – the year in which the prohibition of communist-orientated movements was rescin
ded and apartheid was terminated for all practical purposes – farm attacks were virtually non-existent. (There were some noteworthy exceptions, such as the landmine attack on the Van Eck and De Nysschen families in December 1985, which we will deal with in Chapter 10).
In the past two decades, the debate about this phenomenon has been ongoing, with questions as to:
The extent to which these crimes are motivated by race or politics, or simply by greed (the intention to steal);
Whether these are simply ‘normal crimes’ or are in fact hate crimes;
Whether there is some element of holistic planning or conspiracy behind these attacks;
Whether struggle songs such as ‘Dubula iBhunu’ and ‘Kill the Boer, Kill the farmer’ lead to an increase in attacks;
Whether the so-called theft of land by white people can be called upon as a justification for these crimes;
Whether the problem is taken seriously enough and reported in a balanced manner by the media;
Whether we are in fact witnessing a case of genocide or something else to that effect; and
Many more questions that we shall deal with in the chapters that follow.
A particular concern about the debate regarding farm attacks is that it is often drawn into one of two extremes. In the one extreme the matter is regarded in its entirety as a political matter in which those who discuss the issue become so caught up in trying to prove their preconceived ideas that the actual facts are easily thrown out with the proverbial bath water. In the other extreme, the matter is analysed and dissected on a factual basis – with complicated calculations, technical definitions, statistical anomalies and so forth – to such an extent that the victims are forgotten in the process. This is particularly true of fact checkers and of those who have taken a stance against the campaign to have farm murders declared a priority crime. Judging by how they frame their arguments, one cannot help but wonder whether some of them are trying to score political points by attempting to downplay the reality of farm attacks.