Chapter 2 – The Architects of Change
The inner
circle that would eventually engineer the September Intervention took shape
quietly and methodically during the first half of 2026. What had begun as a
loose collection of academics and civic leaders slowly hardened into a
disciplined network of planners and analysts. Its members did not see
themselves as conspirators but as custodians of a collapsing republic, forced
to do what those in office could not or would not attempt.
At the
centre of this network stood Dr Harvey Jacobs, already well known from
his lectures, essays, and television commentaries. His mixed heritage and
lifelong commitment to social justice lent him credibility across communities;
his students described him as a man who could speak the language of Soweto and
Stellenbosch in the same breath. He had spent years warning that South Africa’s
democracy was eroding from within—that corruption, policy incoherence and
patronage had replaced accountability. In his view the coming breakdown was not
ideological but structural: a state so weakened that it could no longer
maintain order or deliver services.
Jacobs’s
public essays had attracted the attention of several prominent figures in
business and civil society. Among the first to seek him out was Andries
Marais, a mining executive who had seen his company reduced to a shadow by
electricity shortages and export bottlenecks. Marais argued that without
decisive action the entire private sector would soon follow. Others
joined—retired judge Naledi Motaung, former defence strategist Colonel
Sipho Nkadimeng, economist Professor Nigel Cooper-Smith, and the
lawyer-activist Sakena Moloketsi, whose earlier work on constitutional
reform had earned national respect.
They met
discreetly in Johannesburg and later in Pretoria, under the guise of a
“national dialogue forum.” Over months of discussion a consensus emerged that
the political system was beyond internal repair. The ANC’s hold on the state
was maintained through networks of dependency—employment in state enterprises,
municipal contracts, and the promise of patronage. Any government that tried to
govern honestly from within that framework would be destroyed by it. Only a
decisive external intervention, they concluded, could break the cycle.
Their
deliberations remained theoretical until March 2026, when several senior
officers within the South African National Defence Force quietly
approached Nkadimeng. The officers—career professionals marginalised by
politically connected superiors—offered their cooperation should a plan for
national stabilisation become necessary. Around the same time, executives of
large private security firms indicated willingness to maintain order if the
state faltered. These parallel contacts convinced the Forum that a coordinated
intervention was not only possible but already half-prepared by circumstance.
The group
adopted a provisional title: The Council for National Renewal. Its early
meetings focused on defining legitimacy. Jacobs insisted that any future action
must present itself not as a seizure of power but as a guardianship—temporary,
procedural, and justified solely by the need to restore the rule of law. The
Council’s minutes, later released, recorded his words: “If we are to act
outside the constitution, it must be to save the constitution’s purpose, not to
destroy it.”
Funding and
logistical planning followed. Business donors, fearful of collapse yet
unwilling to appear partisan, channelled resources through charitable
foundations. Retired intelligence officers mapped communications nodes and
transport corridors; sympathetic engineers provided information on
national-grid control points. The Council’s analysts identified key ministries
where immediate control would prevent administrative paralysis: finance,
energy, defence, and broadcasting.
As plans
advanced, international legitimacy became a priority. A small delegation—two
businessmen, a former diplomat, and an academic adviser—travelled quietly to
Washington, ostensibly to attend an investment conference. While there, they
met with policy figures linked to the President. The delegation sought no overt
endorsement, only an assurance that any South African transition aimed at
restoring order and market confidence would not be condemned. They returned
with cautious encouragement: the message was that the world would accept almost
any government that could guarantee stability and protect trade.
Back in
South Africa, Jacobs laboured to forge unity among the Council’s disparate
members. Afriforum and business associations pushed for a swift, decisive coup
centred on property rights and deregulation. Civil-rights organisations argued
for a social compact rooted in justice and accountability. Jacobs positioned
himself between these factions, arguing that the success of any post-coup
administration would depend on moral legitimacy rather than force. “If the
people do not believe we act for their good,” he warned, “they will turn on us
before the year is out.”
Throughout
the winter, the Council refined its blueprint. The plan called for simultaneous
occupation of key communication centres, airports, and government complexes,
coupled with a media announcement framing the operation as a constitutional
rescue. ANC leadership would be confined, not harmed; Parliament suspended but
intact. Essential services—electricity, policing, banking—would continue under
emergency management.
Each member
understood the risks. Failure would mean treason charges; success would still
require confronting the enormous task of governing a broken state. Yet there
was a growing sense of inevitability. Each week brought new evidence of
governmental paralysis: unpaid public servants, collapsing hospitals, and the
postponement of yet another municipal election.
By late
August the decision was effectively made. The Council’s final meetings, held in
a farmhouse outside Paarl, were sober affairs. Jacobs appeared withdrawn but
resolute. He told his colleagues that moral courage consisted not in certainty
but in action taken despite uncertainty. “History will judge us not by our
hesitation but by what we build after the noise stops,” he said.
When the
government confirmed its intention to delay the elections “for administrative
reasons,” the Council set the date. The intervention would commence before dawn
on the first Monday of September 2026.
The
architects of change had completed their design. All that remained was to bring
it to life.
No comments:
Post a Comment