LV is a quiet man, but this past year has made him a recluse. He fears unfamiliar places, driving far, and seeing anyone in a police uniform. Once a proud rifleman in the South African National Defence Force (SANDF) along with his partner L, his life has come to a standstill since Sunday, 2 July 2023, around 4 pm.
He was driving along the N1 near Woodmead, Johannesburg, with three colleagues when they were boxed in and forced from the road by Deputy President Paul Mashatile’s VIP Protection Unit – later dubbed the #BlueLightEight. He was pulled from the car, grievously assaulted and left unconscious next to the damaged car. “I looked dead in that video,” says LV, almost as if he still cannot believe it was him. An anonymous motorist recorded everything, and the video went viral on social media. LV was so severely assaulted that he could not remember the weekend of the incident.
“I wish people could see and feel what I saw,” says L, a bubbly and talkative person. “They hit him so hard he couldn’t remember anything. He couldn’t answer my questions as we tried to piece together what happened. He couldn’t remember the Saturday. He couldn’t remember the Sunday. He remembers the Friday when he left work. That is when I realised how seriously he got hurt. He could have died in his sleep, but they just moved on.”
On the Monday morning after the attack, when L first saw LV – both still unaware of what had transpired – and the state of her car – a car she had saved a long time to buy and was so proud of – he kept apologising and said he thought he was hijacked.
“Even to this day, I would have believed I was hijacked because I only remember seeing the guns pointing at me,” says LV. “When I saw the video, I did not know what was going on. I was hijacked, but the car is here and here is the video. Honestly, I did not know what was going on”.
The couple went to get a quote to fix the damage to her car and to have it washed. “I’ve always been very precise on my car, and it broke my heart to see it that way”. They debated on whether to go to the police and report the hijacking. “How do you report something you don’t remember? I did not know what to report. We have the car, so how could I have been hijacked? Who hijacked me? Where did it happen? I did not even know that,” LV remembers.
And then, that evening, their lives “turned upside down”. A reporter called them and asked L about her car, but she couldn’t make sense of the questions. The reporter realised they hadn’t seen the video and sent it to them.
“We watched the video over and over again. We could see what was happening, but we understood nothing. It didn’t make sense,” remembers L. “Then I realised it was my car and LV. We both started panicking. I told him we should go to the police, and just as we drove off the base, LV asked me to stop. We were so confused. We need help, but we are also afraid of those who should help us. We turned around and locked ourselves in the room. We didn’t sleep and did not want to believe it was true. The next morning, we didn’t know what to do, who to go to, who to speak to. We were afraid.”
The incident left the couple exposed. The media had traced L through her car. Media reports mentioned her age and where she grew up; they even called her mother. They still feel exposed. “Everyone at work knows it is my car. I cannot handle that,” says L. “You cannot see him on the video, but the people who worked with us could quickly figure out what was going on. I want to be in a place where no one knows it is my car”.
LV concurs. “I had a fear in me every day. I looked over my shoulder every day for the police. Whenever I saw someone in a police uniform I just wanted to get to my comfort zone as fast as possible. It wasn’t nice, even to this moment. It isn’t nice, especially when we have to be here for the court case. My life came to a standstill. I had to leave Pretoria. Because I was afraid and felt that my life was in danger. I know what people do. They remove someone to silence them. So they don’t talk. Obviously, the deputy president has people who protect him. I thought those people were looking for me to kill me. I still feel that way, and I still look over my shoulder. ”
Not only did their private lives come to a standstill. Their careers have come to a grinding halt because of the court case and disciplinary hearing. “For this past year, my life stood still. I go to work, go to home, go to work, go to home. I cannot do anything,” says LV.
“Just when we think we have settled a little bit, we must go to court or the disciplinary hearing,” says L. “You’re ripped to that reality, and you have no choice. I want to go for deployments and training like him, but we can’t. Just when we think we are taking a couple of steps forward, we are pushed back. And then you get here, and you’re told it is postponed. Then, you have to go back again and see what you can do to keep yourself busy. And just as you think you are getting a flow, we must return”.
LV agrees. “Life stands still, and I can do nothing, nothing, nothing. It is frustrating. Really, it makes me angry.
“In our work, when you are involved with a court case, you cannot attend deployments and courses. There is a timeframe in which you have to complete these. They cannot reserve a place for you and pull you out when you need to go to court. So they put us on nothing. They arranged for me to work at another base for safety. Where I am now, I only do light activities, and there is not much to keep me busy. No courses. No external deployments to earn extra money because of this case.”
“You have goals you want to reach in life, but you can’t. That is where the anger comes in. We have to wait for things to come to a point before we can do our own things,” says L.
LV and L are scared that something will happen to them because the attackers are the people who should protect them. Even though the person who recorded the video is anonymous, the person who shared it on social media received a threatening SMS the day after the incident.
“These people are police, and, obviously, their colleagues are police. That is why I fear them. They could have spread this thing out wide… to be on the lookout for us,” says LV. LV Clip 7 L agrees: “I sometimes feel the people who are supposed to make us feel safe… it is the opposite. I don’t want to work nightshift anymore, because I’m afraid. I changed my number plate, but it makes no difference. The feeling stays the same. Every day, my car is a reminder of what happened.”
When they see these BlueLight Bullies, they feel hate. “To have to walk around on their grounds every time, to have to step in there, is a feeling I never thought I would experience towards another person,” says L. “We were taught to love everyone as we love ourselves. But I never knew one could hate someone so much. Who gives you the right to turn someone else’s life upside down like that? And who gives you the right even to think what you have done is right? You walk around and go on as usual as if nothing is wrong. And the people on top are silent. Nobody wants to say something about what happened. Nobody says it was wrong”.
LV has trouble keeping his emotions in check when he thinks about his attackers and how the case progressed so far. “I personally feel that if I had been some or other politician’s child, or some or other minister and it happened to me… those men would have been where they belonged a long time ago. But because I’m just a normal person, things go from this side to that. No, these people…”
The disciplinary hearing against the eight (Shadrack Molekatlane Kojana, Johannes Matome Mampuru, Posmo Joseph Mofokeng, Harmans Madumetja Ramokhonami, Phineas Molefo Boshielo, Churchill Mpakamaseni Mkhize, Lesiba Aggrie Ramabu and Moses Fhatuwani) SAPS VIP Protection Unit members has not moved one millimetre forward despite LV and L putting their lives on hold every time. In October (2023), national police spokesperson Athlenda Mathe said, “the internal departmental investigation has been finalised, and the divisional commissioner for protection security services has appointed functionaries to proceed with the disciplinary process”.
Since the hearing started, it has been postponed ?? many times. The reasons range from the accused being sick, union representatives going on training and preparations for the elections, and none at all.
The court case has been before the Randburg Magistrates’ Court since 24 July 2023 and has been postponed six times already. The matter was postponed to 29 July in May 2024. The accused face a range of charges, including pointing a firearm, malicious damage to property, reckless and negligent driving, assault with the intent to do grievous bodily harm, attempting to defeat the administration of justice and assault by way of threats.
The accused were suspended from work on full pay on 10 July 2023. They handed themselves over to IPID on 23 July and were released on bail of R10 000 each just over a week later. Their suspension lapsed in October 2023 when the police confirmed the officers were back on duty. They are, however, office-based and not operational.
With all the frivolous postponements, it seems like there is no end in sight. LV and L are, however, dead set on not backing down. “Those people should get what’s coming to them. Justice must prevail. I understand there are procedures, but here we have all the evidence. What more? Even though we are doing everything that should be done, some underhanded things are still going on. It is frustrating,” says LV.
They both agree that what happened to LV exemplifies what is wrong in South Africa. “I am happy the video went viral nationally,” explains LV. “How many people with power in this country do things, and nothing happens to them? I am thankful for the person who recorded the video. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. It would have been just another thing that happened.”
“I want them to be punished for what they did. I want everyone in the country, everyone who saw the video, to know that we cannot treat each other that way,” concludes L.
Action Society has been supporting LV and L since day one. We are highly dissatisfied with how the police are dragging the case out. They seem to be waiting for the criminal trial to take disciplinary action. Their prosecution should not stand in the way of finalising the disciplinary process. The #BlueLightEight should face disciplinary accountability as soon as possible, and the chairperson of the disciplinary hearing should put his foot down on this.
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