Monkishly patient demeanour aside, perhaps Chief Justice Raymond Zondo’s noteworthy superpower is a penchant for delivering findings and judgements that leave the political principals ashen-faced whilst thrusting the proletariat into bucolic swoons. Like that quintessential Hollywood reel of the grateful masses cheering some superhero on as he bounds across skyscrapers amped to save the day. In 2018, as Deputy Chief Justice, Zondo came to the rescue of every marijuana smoker, hitherto disdainfully paganised as misfits of undesirable habits and questionable hygiene.
Growing up in the waning years of apartheid Calvinism and well into democracy, marijuana had always gone cheek by jowl with unkempt grooming, an inclination to crime and the sort of crowd with whom one ordinarily maintained a wide berth. The church had always felt this way. The law had agreed, so too the bulk of middle-class society but Zondo pulled the rug right from under our feet with this utterance: “It will not be a criminal offence for an adult person to use or be in possession of cannabis in private space.” This could not have sat well with a government that was appealing a 2017 judgement by a lower court that ruled in favour of the private use of marijuana.
True to form several months ago when presenting the last of his reports into state capture, Zondo had a similar salvo up his sleeve. Since the advent of democracy, the Liberation Movement had been bent on purging the public sector of any remnants of the previous regime. Assured that these elements would invariably seek to undermine the new democratic dispensation, key positions were subsequently filled by cadres – men and women loyal to the new Constitution of the Republic and most importantly, to the ruling ANC.
It was a two-pronged approach; on its face meant to facilitate a transformed democratic society but subliminally to ensure party longevity. Still, though, it was not entirely devoid of rationale: How could we hope to build said new society if old apartheid hands – many with blood on them – were in charge of strategic public positions?
Understandably, in those earlier years, with many cadres returning from exile or just released from prison, some of these positions ostensibly went their way. Consolation spoils for comrades who’d had it rough during the struggle years.
Furthermore, these were also the years where elections proved that there was something admirable to be said of the cadres and the ANC which continually enjoyed overwhelming support. Back when an irregular R14m Sarafina 2 tender was enough to not only cause a national scandal but see the untimely cancellation of that production. When an unlawful discount on a car could have a prominent ANC figure swiftly kitted out in a prison jumpsuit.
Fast forward to now and that is chump change. As we speak, multi-billion Rand fleecings of state coffers are the new normal and seemingly nobody is ever marched down to “the big house.” Dubbed Accused Number One in the hollowing out of state institutions, could the best years of the ruling party be now well and truly behind the once glorious Khongolose?
Cadre deployment, which Zondo has discredited to be illegal and unconstitutional has become less a means to afford the previously disadvantaged a leg-up than a cronyistic employment lacuna for the sons, daughters and side chics of the political somebodies. A de facto get-rich-quick scheme for those “in” with the political bigmen to ensure they remain at the levers of power indefinitely.

In the intervening years, we have witnessed some of the best minds being passed over in favour of the most disastrous characters in heading critical public institutions. Complete unknowns have become cabinet ministers at ungodly hours. Our spooks seem little more than private intelligence gatherers to political superiors than ensuring the security and safety of the country. In some countries this would cause a furore. Here at home we gasp, complain and our attention is soon diverted by the next appalling headline. And when civil society points out that this cadre deployment business is an affront even to those black people who have worked hard trying to develop themselves, the paraphrased refrain goes something like: “counter-revolutionary utterances, those, no doubt from a disgruntled wannabe. There is always Sydney for you, Chief.”
Zondo’s report has driven a train through such arrogance and no doubt scores of qualified black people can now nourish the promise that it is their capabilities, not political loyalties that will speak to their career prospects. That cadre deployment has remained a de facto ANC policy so far down into democracy is only insofar as, in its absence, many in the rank and file would be languishing in obscurity if merit was the uncompromising yardstick. In not putting up a timeframe as to how long, post-1994, should this deployment continue, the ANC was effectively writing itself a blank cheque, ensuring loyalists would remain at the trough “until Jesus comes back.”
Lest we get sidetracked, though, let’s go back to that most memorable of all rulings.
Marijuana.
Yep, at the stroke of a pen, dagga, the precious illicit commodity that would see drug mules crossing crocodile-infested rivers and patrolled borders into Lesotho or Swaziland to get their hands on rare strains was no longer criminalised. The nation was effectively handed licence to “spliff” freely in private space with no extenuating worry about the po-po showing up on their doorstep.
Needless to say, in some lowly quarters, Zondo instantly became something of a working-class hero who’d come to validate what many pro-cannabis activists had been screaming at the top of their lungs; “why legalise cigarette smoke and alcohol whilst banning the ‘holy herb?”‘ as Rastafarians refer to the serrated-leaf plant.
In compliance with the Constitutional Court, our legislators have subsequently drafted some of the necessary legislation. But one must ask whether these laws have the best interests of the little guy at heart? With “rural development” and “B-BBEE,” amongst others, making up the redress dictionary of Affirmative Action, do these laws speak meaningfully to these aspirations?
It is well-documented how rural communities particularly in KwaZulu Natal and Pondoland in the Eastern Cape have thrived through illegally growing marijuana and making an albeit precarious living for themselves while at it. One need only gloss over the rich lexicon used in those parts to see how embedded the connection lies. Anything from “ganja” to “umthunzi weenkukhu” or chicken shade. The network sinks so deep that these lowly people have for many years unfailingly ensured that zols and bongs as far away as Cape Town were kept alit and smoking.
After centuries in the game, where upon his arrival Jan van Riebeeck found indigenous communities liberally smoking beneath our blue heavens, it should come as no surprise that experience has allowed us to develop our own distinct marijuana strain: Durban Poison. (If you haven’t yet gotten the brief, growing weed is nowadays a serious science.)

Those who dabble with these things speak of the Durban Poison potency – capable of reducing the most seasoned stoner (that’s smoker to you) into a mumbling, randomly-guffawing rabble.
On a serious note, though, it doesn’t take much to appreciate the enormous commercial potential ushered by this ruling. Major corporates are no doubt already falling over themselves, employing major law firms and experts to ensure a chance at the piece of the pie. In his State of the Nation address this year, President Cyril Ramaphosa encouraged the country to seriously look into tapping into this potentially lucrative industry.
All the more reason to consider how this legislation might be reconfigured in order to ensure that these rural communities, for centuries criminalised, will too benefit from the inevitable windfall. According to the BBC, acquiring a licence “to export [marijuana] for medicine” through the South African Medical Products Regulatory Authority (SAHPRA) should put a dent upward of R26 000 to your wallet.
Factor into this that you will also need anywhere between R3.2m to R5.5m to set up a medicinal cannabis facility, then small-scale farmers clearly don’t make the cut. This flies in the face of the notions of “rural development”, “evening out the playing field” and all such other bureaucratic claptrap if the laws are not taking stock of the practical realities on the ground. However, according to the BBC, all is not doom and gloom for our Eastern Cape farmers.
“The Pondoland or Landrace strain of the plant, which grows so abundantly in the area has shown some encouraging results in in treating breast cancer. Sweetwater Aquaponics and the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR) are currently running a study, and scientists are optimistic that the strain will yield good results. It is still early days, but if the Pondoland strain is found to be effective, this could be the game-changer that indigenous growers have been desperately searching for.”
Countries like the US are laughing all the way to the bank because of the ridiculous tax boon generated from cannabis. Just last year the plant brought the state of California $1.3bn in tax revenue. If this were in SA we’d be talking more than R23bn going into SARS’s hands. What a difference such sums would make to the plight of the downtrodden poor. A few RDP houses here, potholes patched up there, a hospital for some cut-off village and maybe a pay raise for our disgruntled public servants.
eParkeni thus was interested in how this judgment figures in our own backyard. Might we have our own would-be farmers waiting in the wings? Could our once-criminalised dealers reinvent themselves as respectable ganjapreneurs? And it didn’t take long to discover that, yes, in our own small enclave, enthusiasts are creeping out the woodwork, planting “the herb” with reckless abandon in their backyards.

Depending on who you visit, the yield might be anywhere between a few sparse plants to a sprawling plot that leaves you wondering if the owner might be aware that the law currently limits the private growing and possession of the plant to no more than 600gm per adult. This number is reduced to 100gm in public, apparently not to be smoked, though. Also, your car might be your private space, but smoking on a public road could land you in serious trouble.
Speaking on condition of anonymity *Mrs So-and-So has been having joint trouble for as long as she can remember. The arthritis, especially in the mornings can be delibidating, confining her to bed when she would otherwise be up cleaning her house. She claims that the cannabis oil she sometimes uses along with her prescription medication has been an elixir. As a result, where she used to secretly buy the oil by the 250ml bottle nowadays she makes it herself. Among her spinach, beetroot and apricot trees, there her marijuana looms noticeably, heads – the green gold – cropping up and Mrs So-and-So is looking forward to a great harvest in the coming months. Note: It grows somewhat hidden under a tree because she is “a born-again” Christian. It would not reflect favourably if members of this charismatic persuasion found the highly spiritual Mrs So-and-So, who is often known to pray in tongues, to be dabbling in such wickedness. Old habits die hard, one supposes.
In a different neighbourhood, an adult male is nursing his own little patch. *Mr Ray has been a smoker since his school days more than 20 years ago and doesn’t seem keen on calling it quits any time soon. Although his plants are still immature, he has a supplier to keep his Rizzlas rolled until such time as he is able to harvest. But we must reiterate that as the law stands, the buying and selling of a mature marijuana plant and/or heads remains illegal.
This writer, strictly for experimental purposes of course, has been cultivating since 2019. One thing he noticed was the remarkable resilience of the plant. When the red onion and bell peppers were giving in on account of a hostile Karoo winter, never to grow again, the swiss chard and marijuana gallantly withstood the frost and low temperatures. So when the summers rolled by and the plant began developing its heads, with excitement, he plucked these off leaving them out to dry. A week or two later he liberally shared them with the company he is known to keep, the majority of whom were once upon a time dreadlocked Rastafarians who worshipped a deity called Jah. Seemingly, they’ve turned their backs on the faith but still hold dearly to the reggae music and marijuana.
Having puffed and passed on a few joints, there was some grunting, glazed eyes, a few snickers until one of them got up to say he was leaving because, “siso esi, ndiyokutya, ndilambile.” This is the stuff, I’m going home. The munchies are killing me.” As somebody who doesn’t smoke cannabis, it would be nice to have the sort of laws that allow me to sell my produce – which as per the above testimony is probably not too bad for a beginner – pretty much like I often do with the surplus of my Swiss chard. Perhaps the powers that be will consider us lowly folk in their laws, if not, we’re crossing fingers that the Chief Justice will, once again come to the rescue.

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