…ridicule first, investigate later
I used to think critics of the so-called Directorate on Corruption and Economic Offences (DCEO) were being unnecessarily harsh when they called it a toothless dog. A bit unkind, I thought. Perhaps even exaggerated.
After all, surely a whole Directorate, which is given millions annually by the government to eradicate economic offences, could not be said to have misplaced both its teeth and its bite.
Well. It turns out the critics were, in fact, being lenient.
There I was this week, minding my own innocent business, laughing at Facebook memes and avoiding productive work as one does on a Monday, when the DCEO decided to drop a statement so astonishing it nearly made me spill my rooibos tea — a crime far more serious than anything currently under investigation, I might add.
The Directorate announced, with the confidence of a man explaining why he set his own house on fire, that it was withdrawing its High Court application in the case involving Peka legislator, Mohopoli Monokoane.
Why?
Because its own prosecutor had lied.
Now, I am not a legal expert — I am merely a concerned citizen with a sharp pen and a sharper sense of disbelief — but I had always assumed that the prosecution’s job was to prosecute, not to improvise fiction worthy of a Lilaphalapha sequel. Apparently, I was wrong again.
According to the DCEO, this “minor hiccup” resulted in the rather unfortunate situation where they accused an entire Chief Magistrate — a woman who has been dispensing justice since shoulder pads were fashionable — of corruption.
Five months of investigations later, the Directorate has bravely concluded that its own case was “fundamentally flawed”, built on “false, misleading, and improperly presented factual assertions”. In other words, a castle build in very deep sand.
My remark: “Basali!”
But fear not, dear nation. The DCEO reassures us that it “remains resolute in its mandate to combat corruption with integrity and professionalism, without fear or favour”.
Without fear or favour?
What about embarrassment?
Because if embarrassment were currency, we would have cleared the national debt by now.
Let us rewind a little.
This is the same case where a wealthy businessman and politician was dramatically accused of stealing fertiliser worth M40,000. When he laughed — quite reasonably — at the idea that he would risk his reputation for something equivalent to his parliamentary salary which he donates to his constituency, the amount mysteriously ballooned to M78,000.
Ah yes, inflation. It is not just affecting groceries.
Somewhere in the DCEO offices, one imagines a brainstorming session:
“Gentlemen, the suspect is not taking us seriously. Raise the amount.”
“To what?”
“Something that sounds more… criminal.”
And just like that, arithmetic became strategy.
Then came the courtroom drama — missing records, postponed hearings, confusion over dates, and a dismissal that left the Directorate fuming like a kettle forgotten on the stove.
The DCEO responded with righteous indignation, accusing the magistrate of irrationality, irregularity, and just about every “-ality” available in the legal dictionary.
Affidavits were filed. Arguments were sharpened. Accusations flew.
And then — plot twist — five months later, the DCEO says: “Actually, never mind. Our prosecutor lied”.
Ao! Ntate Mantšo Sello, Kannete if this was a theatre production, we would demand a refund.
And quite shockingly, your Directorate’s greatest hits do not end there.
Who can forget the unforgettable arrest of journalist, Mohalenyane Phakela? Ah yes, the daring operation where officers stormed a newsroom, confiscated phones, detained a man overnight on a concrete floor, and accused him of impersonating a DCEO official.
A journalist… impersonating a DCEO officer?
That is like accusing a cat of impersonating a dog — not impossible, but highly unlikely and frankly unnecessary.
After that drama, interrogation, and what can only be described as an enthusiastic abuse of authority, the Directorate made yet another heroic discovery:
“Eish!” There was no material evidence”.
Nine days later, the charges vanished faster than accountability at a press briefing.
But the statement! Oh, the statement was a masterpiece. It spoke of “strategic partnerships with the media”, of “appreciation for investigative journalism”, and of “commitment to transparency”.
If irony was a sport, we would have qualified for the World Cup.
One begins to notice a pattern here. A rhythm, even.
Step 1: Act boldly.
Step 2: Accuse loudly.
Step 3: Embarrass spectacularly.
Step 4: Investigate quietly.
Step 5: Withdraw gracefully (or as gracefully as one can after tripping over one’s own shoelaces in public).
It is less a law enforcement strategy and more a performance art piece.
Perhaps the Directorate should consider rebranding. The Directorate on Corruption and Economic Offences sounds far too serious for an institution that doubles as a national comedy troupe.
May I suggest: The Directorate on Comedy and Embarrassment of Optimists?
Because only an optimist would still believe that every dramatic announcement will end in a conviction rather than a clarification.
Now, I do not envy Ntate Sello. Truly, I do not. Leading an institution that appears determined to outdo itself in public misadventures must be exhausting.
One moment you are accusing magistrates of corruption; the next, you are apologising for your own prosecutor. One day you are arresting journalists; the next, you are praising them as partners.
It is governance by mood swing.
Ntate Sello, you are a soldier. Discipline, we are told, is your language. Order is your instinct. But your troops — forgive me — appear to be dancing to a Lekompo song only they can hear, and it is wildly off tempo.
At this point, Basotho are not asking for miracles. We are asking for consistency. For competence. For the radical idea that investigations should come before accusations, not after the press conference.
Is that too much?
Because right now, the DCEO resembles a man who fires a gun into the air and then draws a target around wherever the bullet lands.
And then withdraws the shot.
Perhaps the most worrying part is not the embarrassment — though there is plenty of that to go around — but the erosion of trust. Institutions do not collapse overnight; they unravel, thread by thread, statement by statement, “Eish” after “Eish”.
And each time this happens, the public learns a dangerous lesson: that power can act first and explain later, that reputations can be damaged on a whim, and that accountability is optional.
So yes, Ntate Sello, I won’t be surprised if I no longer see you in public. Surely you will be needing a disguise — and wearing a balaclava will be understandable as winter has started to kick in.
Someone once asked me whether the DCEO had ever successfully prosecuted a prominent case into finality. I am still searching for a positive answer.
In the meantime, I will continue my public service — scrolling Facebook, laughing at memes, and waiting patiently for the next episode of Chronicles of the Directorate.
Because at this rate, the only thing more predictable than the next scandal… is the apology that is bound to follow.
In the meantime, be rest assured Ntate Sello. I hold no brief for Ntate Monokoane. But accusing him of stealing M40 000 (later revised to 78 000 after factoring in the DCEO’s bizarre inflation rate) is not only a tragic, but stupid joke. Ntate Monokoane is not your ordinary, opportunist tenderprenuer businessman, he is an original and legitimate multi-millionaire. The M40 000 you accuse him of stealing is hardly enough for his lunch with friends at Ulala. Even if the Directorate’s prosecutors and investigators were to join the party on any Friday afternoon to down several more bottles of intoxicating fluids and the bill escalates to your alleged M78 000, Ntate Monokoane can still afford to pay it.
You were appointed to rescue the DCEO and mold it into credibility. But at the rate at which this important institution is now unravelling under your watch Ntate Sello, it will soon totally descend from resembling a Jane Fonda gimmick into a Dr Strangelove circus. The sooner you get serious the better, Ntate Sello.
Achee!
