Reflections during the festive season: A life in the struggle

As the festive season settles upon us, with its quiet moments amid the celebrations, I find myself, like many others, allowing my mind to wander back through the years. At this time, when the world slows just a little, one has the space to reflect on life’s journey—the joys, the triumphs, the sorrows, and the hard lessons etched into the soul.

In a few days’ time, on Christmas Day, I will turn 66, and these reflections come naturally to a man in the later chapters of his story. It was recently, during one such quiet evening, chatting on the phone with my dear friend Justice Piitso, that old memories surfaced: the strange, the funny, and yes, the deeply painful episodes from my final days in the African National Congress (ANC).

These are not easy stories to tell. Many who have endured similar betrayals choose silence, finding the pain too raw, the exposure too vulnerability-inducing. They carry the weight alone, perhaps fearing judgment or reliving the hurt. But those who know me know that silence has never been my way. I have always been prepared to confront my experiences head-on—the pain, the insights gained, and whatever reactions may follow.

Straightforward talking! For me, it has always been a compass in the long unfinished walk to freedom. My journey with the ANC began when I was just 19 years old, some 45 years ago. Growing up in a conservative Afrikaner family, steeped in the doctrines of the Dutch Reformed Church, I could have followed a path of privilege and conformity. But the injustices of apartheid gnawed at my conscience. I saw the brutality inflicted on my fellow South Africans—the forced removals, the pass laws, the daily humiliations—and I could not stand idly by.

Defying my upbringing, I joined the ANC, committing myself to the underground struggle. It was a decision that cost me dearly: expulsion from the church I once called home, vicious attacks from pastors who preached racial segregation as divine will from pulpits like that of the Groote Kerk in Cape Town. Yet, it was the right path, one that aligned my life with the fight for justice.

My history in the Movement is no secret: arrested in 1983 for underground work with the ANC and Umkhonto we Sizwe, sentenced to 15 years for treason. Solitary confinement in the period before I was sentenced, and the torture that accompanied it, cost me most of my hearing, permanently turning me into a severely hearing-impaired person. All of this, together with those years in Pretoria Maximum Security Prison after I was sentenced, were a crucible.

I was subjected to the harsh regime of apartheid’s jails. I endured interrogations, deprivation, and constant psychological warfare designed to break the spirit. But prison also forged unbreakable bonds with comrades, and it deepened my resolve. I read voraciously—books on liberation theology, Marxism, and African history— emerging unbroken when the unbanning of the liberation movements and negotiations f inally came in 1991.

The transition to democracy was a moment of euphoria, but even then, I sensed the huge challenges ahead. Upon release, I threw myself into the work of building the new South Africa. I had the profound honour of serving as spokesperson for the ANC and for President Nelson Mandela himself—a role that filled me with pride and purpose.

Travelling the world to advocate for our nascent democracy, I later served as South Africa’s ambassador to The Netherlands, where I worked tirelessly to strengthen international ties and promote reconciliation. Those were heady days. Yet, my dedication to the national liberation struggle was total, and so was my early post-1994 concern when I saw the ANC veering toward a neoliberal path that I believed betrayed our people’s aspirations.

Policies that prioritised markets over the masses, privatisation over public ownership—these shifts felt like a slow erosion of the Freedom Charter’s promises. I criticised from within, always seeking change through dialogue and principle, but my voice increasingly fell on deaf ears. I also spoke out firmly against the abuse of the legal system for fighting factional battles in the ANC.

For years, I defended the principle that courts and institutions should never be weaponised in internal party battles. This led me to express solidarity with figures like Jacob Zuma and others—those who fell afoul of dominant factions at certain times within the ANC—certainly not because I endorsed every action they took, but because I saw the dangerous hollowing out of our justice system. Recent revelations of rot in the South African Police Service and the National Prosecuting Authority have, regrettably, confirmed those warnings I issued long ago.

The manipulation of law to settle scores not only undermines justice, but erodes the very foundations of our constitutional democracy. Yet, it is the personal toll of those final years in the ANC that weighs heaviest in these reflections. I was sidelined and subjected to the most vicious lies and misinformation— horrible fabrications deliberately spread about me, all in the service of silencing my voice because I dared to raise concerns about the selling-out that was taking place within the organisation.

I’m not saying that I’m without mistakes, and that I’ve not committed errors, but those were embellished upon and lied about in the most grotesque manner. Whispers turned to outright campaigns: accusations of disloyalty, financial impropriety, personal failings—none grounded in truth, but potent enough to isolate and discredit. Efforts were made—deliberate and sustained—to destroy me financially and reputationally. For years it was made impossible for me to get employment and to earn a living.

This was done deliberately by the ANC, with every door for possible employment or financial support being slammed closed. For a brief moment after 2017, when the then ANC Secretary-General Ace Magashule brought me back to Luthuli House as Senior Manager for Special Projects, there was a glimmer of hope. But from the day I re-entered those doors, the machinery to eject me began turning. The treatment I endured from much of the leadership was dehumanising.

My role was undermined at every turn. When I raised legitimate concerns about corruption—unpaid medical aid, PAYE, pension contributions, and taxes—I laid charges against those responsible. In response, I was dismissed illegally. The entire malicious process concluded in just four hours by the ANC Head of Administration, Phoebe Potgieter, knowing very well that she was wantonly breaking all labour laws, but doing so under direct instruction from Cyril Ramaphosa, in his capacity as ANC President, with the then ANC National Spokesperson, Pule Mabe, crowing in an SABC-TV news interview: “Niehaus is finished!” One may very well ask where the hapless Mr Mabe is now? The then ANC Treasurer-General, Paul Mashatile, halted my salary immediately. When others in the ANC treasury office pointed out the illegality, he brushed it aside, saying he didn’t care; by the time I could fight it, I would be destitute begging on the streets where he wanted to see me.

Even smaller indignities stung: one morning, even before I was so illegally and unceremoniously fired, arriving at my office, I found it occupied by an assistant of Malusi Gigaba, who had just returned to Luthuli House after losing his position as a minister. She casually informed me that Gigaba had decided he liked my office better and, now deployed back to ANC headquarters, had simply taken it over. No consultation, no respect—just treated as disposable. Jessie Duarte, despite our many years of friendship and comradeship—which only deepened the pain and sense of betrayal I felt—all the while continuing to try to create the impression of being progressive and pro-radical economic transformation, initiated multiple disciplinary actions against me on the flimsiest pretexts.

Others, like Nomvula Mokonyane, who, knowing my contribution to the liberation struggle, should have known better and behaved differently, allowed processes to drag on that humiliated and ultimately expelled me. And yet, even in the pain I still carry from how comrade Jessie treated me, I acknowledge her revolutionary commitment and the immense contribution she made to our liberation struggle.

May her soul rest in peace. I watched similar fates befall comrades like Justice Piitso, unceremoniously removed and left jobless, or Dakota Legoete—though some, inexplicably, remain tethered to the organisation despite the abuse. In fact, during that recent telephone conversation with comrade Justice, I told him straight, without beating about the bush: I really do not know what he is still doing there in the ANC. It reminds me of a kind of abusive syndrome, akin to what battered partners endure, returning again and again to the source of their pain.

God alone knows why! And now, years later, there is a bitter irony in the fact that Malusi Gigaba—the very person who evicted me from my office with such casual disregard—serves as co-chairperson of the Joint Standing Committee on Defence, a position in which he is seeking support from across parties to continue to hold, despite facing charges of corruption and having been forced to step aside from all his positions in the ANC. No doubt this is once again the ANC’s factional politics at work.

Inexplicably, he is expecting loyalty from those he once treated so poorly. On a personal level, as well as on the political principle of accountability, why should I feel any obligation to support him—or for that matter any of those pseudo-comrades who claimed to be radical economic transformation (RET) supporters but, when the chips were down, turned their backs on me and showed no support? In fact, they allowed me to hang out to dry.

As far as Legoetle is concerned, today he continues to protect the ANC and the useless ANC Minister of Defence and Military Veterans, Angie Motshekga, in the Portfolio Committee on Defence and Military Veterans, despite the fact that he had been treated like dirt himself. It beggars belief. This is not written to wallow in bitterness or to seek pity. No, it is to speak truth plainly: after 45 years of dedicated service, comradeship, and sacrifice in the liberation struggle, this was the farewell I received from the ANC—betrayal, destruction of what I had tried to build, and a trampling of my contributions.

The pain was profound, compounded by the loss of comradeship I once cherished, the financial hardships that followed, and the isolation from a movement that had been my life. Yet, through it all, I held fast to my principles, refusing to compromise on the vision of a truly liberated South Africa. Today, I write from a profoundly different place, one of gratitude and renewed purpose. As a member of the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), I have been embraced in a way that humbles me deeply.

The Commander-in-Chief and President of the EFF, President Julius Malema, and the EFF as a whole, have so gracefully provided me, in the twilight of my political life, the opportunity to continue serving. At sixty-six, I harbour no further leadership ambitions—only the desire to contribute my experience and commitment in the National Assembly, by the grace and revolutionary platform of the EFF. In the EFF I have found a true revolutionary home.

I’ve truly arrived home where the fight for radical economic transformation is not just rhetoric but a lived commitment, echoing the unyielding spirit that drew me to the struggle decades ago. Yes, indeed, it is a generational mission for economic freedom in our lifetime! Many of these experiences—the triumphs, the betrayals, the lessons, and this redemptive chapter—will be explored in greater depth in my forthcoming autobiography, A Luta Continua, which will be published in the coming year.

My autobiography is certainly not going to pull punches—it will tell the truth, warts and all, as those who know me know that at this stage in my life, I do not need to humour anyone, nor buy anyone’s favour. I have been working on this manuscript for a long time; much of it was ready more than three years ago, but recent events compelled me to rewrite sections to fully acknowledge the journey that has led me to this point of renewal, and also to give full acknowledgement to my party, the Economic Freedom Fighters. Regrets? No, that would be wrong.

Life’s path, with all its twists, has brought me here—to a place where, by the grace of God and the support of the EFF, I can still stand, still contribute, and reflect with clarity on a lifetime devoted to the struggle for a better South Africa. For me it continues to be a luta continua, and it will be so until my last breath passes my lips. *Ambassador Carl Niehaus has been involved in the liberation struggle for the whole of his adult life and today he continues to serve as an EFF Member of Parliament in the National Assembly of the Republic of South Africa.