There’s supposed to be a sequel to my ‘Same Shit Different Government: Book 1 – The Corruption & The Intimidation’. It’s name is/was to be ‘Book 2 – The Devil, The Deaf & The Dead’. I’d work out the outline, chapter headers and half the research. The contents mostly aimed at addressing the Great Knysna Fire, and Government failure regarding the Democratic Alliance corruption I’ve reported – the ANC has a lot to answer for. That book, the more important of the two, may never be. I share an incomplete chapter from that imaginary book.
“If only the people of Knysna stop enabling, he will have to pack his bags and go.”
– Captain Dewald Kitching (Knysna SAPS)
I’m afraid of cops more than politicians and criminals.
I’d encountered police rot in Durban, and seen nasty, associated situations, but it was another mugging that shook me into disillusionment.
Three men attacked me on the bridge that crosses the Umgeni River into Durban North. I was in trouble. One held me from behind whilst another hung on my leg, trying to pull me beneath the bridge. The third took turns hitting me and trying to take my bag which was slung over my neck and shoulder. The latter tried to stab me but freakish fortune saved me. The knife missed and the hand holding it somehow got caught between my body and bag strap. He let go of the knife which I accidentally caught in my right hand. It was the dumbest terrific thing to happen to me.
As I was held from behind, around my upper arms and chest, I wouldn’t have been able to use the knife. Maybe they thought I was a miracle because they inexplicably ran away with only my wallet.
About 80m up the road is the fast food outlet, Kentucky Fried Chicken. A police van was parked outside. I made the mistake of thinking my luck was continuing, and that the robbers would be caught. The cop in the driver’s seat told me he knew that a gang had been operating but would only go looking for them after he finished his lunch (which he was busy eating). WTF! He wasn’t even interested in the knife so I traded it for a coffee at the shop next door, just so I’d have a place to catch my breath and mind.
Adding to lost love and frustration with the music scene, that became the final nail in Durban for me. I accepted work at a mate’s production company in Pietermaritzburg and, when that never worked out, travelled to Knysna.
* * * * * *
Knysna utterly charmed me but it wasn’t long before that got dented.
Although I swore I wasn’t touching artists and bands again, I found myself providing entertainment to Swing Café in Main Street. I doubt Knysna had ever heard so many great bands in a row. Plush, jacSharp, Blk Jks, Napalma, 7th Sun, Stealing Love Jones, Dan Patlansky, Farryl Purkiss, Rowan Stuart and many more passed through there. There were good times and then some bad ones.
* * * * * *
There were a lot of stories about corruption at Knysna Police Station which I got to see in a small way through the club.
I persuaded Boon, the ex-singer of Movie55, to drive the awful distance from JHB to Knysna for a working holiday His welcome to Knysna was being arrested for ‘walking drunk’ (after he’d listened to me and left his Audi at the guest house). After a night in a crowded cell that included a murderer whom he sang to, Boon paid the bribe the cops wanted.
A young, white sound engineer was involved in an car accident with a coloured family in the rural area. Instead of assisting him, the coloured cops that arrived on the scene chose a side, and then took the ‘whitie’ for a joy ride that ensured he got banged up more. It was reverse Apartheid. I’m unsurprised he moved to Cape Town.
Drugs had gotten big in Knysna during the boom period but, when I got there in 2009, the world recession had landed. Despite that, a lot of people were still taking cocaine. It was cheaper than in the cities which suggested it was true that smugglers were using Knysna’s unregulated port.
Our world has too many rules. I’m not against personal liberties that don’t harm anyone else. Most people who take drugs do so for recreation, not addiction. But the club had gotten caught up in the negative side of it, and money was being stolen from the door. The owners were fighting about many things and I got mixed up in it. Swing lost its happiness.
During that mess, I received a late night call from an overweight cop whose nickname was Moekie. He never threatened me directly but it was clear that I wasn’t to give the unlicensed club any trouble. The hour, the tone and his misplaced authority could only be interpreted as threat.
Moekie seemed to be able to do whatever he liked. When he came to sell biltong, the owners felt compelled to buy several hundred rands worth at a time, thinking they’d be hassled if they didn’t. Once, during the day, Moekie walked in and helped himself to bottles of alcohol from behind the bar. Laughingly, he said that he and colleagues needed drinks for their drive to a national police function in Bloemfontein.
* * * * * *
In February 2012, my life got tossed upside down when my drug dealing neighbour, Damian Strachan, tried to kill me with his bare hands.
I never anticipated that the Knysna police would become the bigger problem for me. They refused to enter evidence and, instead of helping, threatened to arrest me. Ineptitude, apathy and racism got added so that the police became the biggest obstruction to getting justice.
I lived at the top of a hill, 26 League Street. The owners, Kevin and Ja’net, lived in the main house. At the bottom of the large garden, bordering the valley, was a double-storey cottage. I lived on the ground floor for 2 years. I was happy there. I had loerie birds visiting and occasionally saw a buck on the other side of the fence. Vee, my landlords dog, adopted me. She would be sure to wake me up early for some loving.
I had several people move in and out above me. Strachan and his girlfriend, Leigh Mannheim, were the last.
Initially, and for most of the period, we were friendly neighbours. I didn’t have a problem with Strachan and his girlfriend smoking marijuana everyday, him far more than her. My asthma may have prevented me being a regular but if I was having a chat with him, I’d have a drag. From his deck, it was fun to feed cheese to drongo birds which would hover right in front of our hands, flapping a breeze before they gained the courage to beak their treat.
When he said he was going to grow a few plants for himself, it never bugged me. I’ve met many people who’ve done that. Knysna was well known for it until the Constitutional Court paused their arrests.
The problem was that when Damian Strachan quit his job, he got a supplier and became a dealer. As his business increased, so I’d bump into his customers waiting in our cul de sac or at the gate. The problem worsened for me when regulars started coming inside the property. Some would hang around for a long time, others knock on my door.
The intrusion of strangers in our normally quiet area was obvious to my landlords but they chose to pretend there wasn’t a problem. At least one of our neighbours had also become aware that dealing was happening.
I thought Strachan’s unemployment would be temporary. I helped by making him a CV. He got a job as a chef at the Sails Restaurant in Wilderness but despite earning R8000p/m, carried on selling after work. He then quit his job (although I wondered if he was fired), saying he hated his boss and would make more money selling weed. I was disturbed.
Strachan wouldn’t stop selling when I asked. Upstairs became an almost permanent social. It got rowdy at nights, becoming a nightmare for me. It was obvious from the clubbing, minimal sleeping and the loudness that other drugs were happening too. I can’t say that he was selling the harder stuff but people were using. Despite the occasional argument, his girlfriend was devoted to him. She may have been more responsible and healthy but was in love and blind.
The simplest solution was for my landlords to give them one month’s notice on their rental. I appealed to them for help but they wouldn’t. That was disappointing considering the very good relationship we’d had up until then. I’d look after their house and dog whilst they were on holidays. On a monthly basis, I’d bring them crisps or a treat from the bakery. I got them to start going to Chaplin’s restaurant. We’d never had a bad word between us. I was fond of them.
That they wouldn’t act was hypocritical in light of them regularly holding prayer meetings at the house. It’s my observation that, to varying degrees, most religious people are religious for the sake of needing religion, rather than believing in and practicing what they preach.
* * * * * *
I couldn’t care if someone was secretly growing weed in the bush and selling it in town. Weed isn’t remotely society’s biggest problem. But it is against the law so I draw a line where it puts me or innocents at risk.
The build-up to the attack was Damian Strachan believing I’d reported him to the police for growing weed in Pledge Nature Reserve, which bordered the property. He’d previously asked me to help him by passing bags of compost over the boundary fence. He said he was going to be his own supplier and make a lot of money. I was horrified, refused to help him, and told him that he had to get rid of it the same day otherwise I’d report him. Later, I saw it was gone and never ever saw him go over the fence. I thought it was over.
Besides the fact that it would’ve made me an accomplice and be contrary to my objectives for a better Knysna, my objection was historically personal.
Once upon a time in Sezela, on the south coast of Kwa-Zulu Natal, one of my best friends, a single mother, had decided she was going to grow and sell. Her ‘genius’ plan was to turn a garden in a suburb into her business. It was beyond my comprehension that she would risk losing her toddler. I made a very difficult decision to shame her to her family, to try ensure her and her kid would stay together… and then cut her off from my life.
* * * * * *
In January 2012, the police raided. They knew what they were looking for as they came through the property and went over the fence to where I never knew plants were growing. Strachan had obviously started farming but as the two cops could carry the plants, there weren’t that many yet.
I hadn’t reported Damian Strachan because I never knew he’d gone ahead with his plan. Maybe his own mouth had gotten him in trouble, or maybe someone on the other side of the valley had binoculars. Didn’t matter. Strachan blamed me. He phoned me, said he was going to kill me. In attempt to de-escalate the situation, I met up with his girlfriend at Chaplin’s Restaurant in Woodmill Lane. She was nervous just for seeing me, said he was worked up, and believed he could do me harm.
I reported the threat to the police. As I left the station, literally metres away, I got an anonymous SMS threat from 0738615775: “I know where you live.” I walked straight back into the police station and showed them.
I didn’t know if his supplier would be angry, and it never felt like home any more. I was moving out. The police refused to raid but, by late day, eventually agreed to accompany me to fetch my things.
However, within minutes, the police deserted me and I was attacked. It showed the duplicitous nature of Strachan. He went from joking with the police (as if I were being absurd) to trying to kill me. The same police arrested him approximately 10-min later.
Strachan had run past two witnesses who were there to help me move. He repeatedly screamed in pure rage that he was going to kill me. I heard him from the cottage, a fair distance away, and braced myself.
When he entered, he was possessed, possibly still on drugs from the night before. We traded blows but despite me being bigger than him, he got the upper hand. I was passing out from him strangling me when the same witnesses finally got over not wanting to be involved and came to the door. They found him with his arm around my throat, me in a kneeling position on the floor. I couldn’t talk and battled to breath for a long time. My throat must’ve swelled and my asthma wasn’t helping.
The police took him away but detectives never arrived to investigate.
Important evidence were photos showing pictures of my face and torn shirt after the attack. They also show my assailant’s keys, cellphone and shoes that were scattered kitchenette as I defended myself. I took those photos, with witnesses, as the police failed to turn up despite 3 calls to them and their promise to do so.
I was the only ‘customer’ in the police station when I reported the attack. I was obviously dinged up and bleeding from minor wounds. However, the black police officer refused to help me. I state his colour because he was clearly being racist. After a long wait, I called an attorney, Yogesh Pama. The same cop refused to acknowledge his presence. In utter frustration, Pama walked behind the counter and yelled at him. That finally got a reaction, the cop threatening to arrest Pama. I decided that it was best we went to the hospital instead. My neck was hurting like hell.
The next day, a different cop refused to fetch my medical forms from the hospital because there was no police vehicle. At one stage, 8 vehicles were broken which is a lot for a small town. But that was irrelevant because the hospital was 1km away. He insisted he wasn’t going to walk, and that I must do so. I wasn’t an invalid and was almost breathing normal, but I was in pain and it wasn’t my job. As I would encounter many times, there is little “service” in South African Police Service.
It took 2 days to raid Damian Strachan’s place who’d obviously gotten rid of any drugs by then.
Nobody was interested in me testifying about the plants that had been previously removed by the SAPS. They seemed to have vanished without investigation. If so, that meant the cops had stolen them. The prosecutor’s office never made queries to the cops despite it being relevant to my case i.e. it was the motive for the attack.
The prosecutor never called those dagga grabbing policemen as witnesses.
The police refused to investigate the origin of the SMSed threat. Instead of keeping the evidence I’d given them, particularly Strachan’s cellphone, they returned it to him when he went to the station.
Overall, I visited the police station 14 times. There’s were numerous calls and emails. I pleaded and complained to constables and their bosses. Constable Whittaker and Captain Visagie separately threatened to arrest me. Whittaker also refused to give me a copy of my statement.
I found it impossible to accept that the Knysna SAPS were favouring my attacker.
* * * * * *
The justice system is overloaded with too much work and not enough staff. There’s inefficiency, incompetency and apathy. In Knysna, there was a breakdown between positive between them and the police. And neither side cared at all about my case. Control Prosecutor Henriette Breedt was so bad that I laid a complaint against her. No one responded, If it’s true that she later had a nervous breakdown, which led to her leaving for an extended period, then I’d understand why she was so awful to me.
Shange Nhlanhla, the prosecutor she’d allocated to my case, was likeable but useless too. I even typed out the situation with questions, giving a copy to him and Breedt. At the first meeting with Nhlanhla, investigating officer Constable Vuzumzi Xokozela failed to turn up. Fruitlessly, I reported his disregard to Station Commander Colonel Nolan Michaels.
Case 302/2/2012 finally got to Court at the end of 2012.
The Prosecutor only discussed my case with me for 10-minutes that morning. That time was reduced by interruptions from others wanting his intention. He was unprepared and didn’t care that he was.
During the trial, the Prosecutor never made any objections or requests, never asked any important questions including some I’d specifically asked him to. He was happy for the case to go away. Magistrate Elmarie Potgieter was as keen. There was one witness for Strachan, one for me. Their testimony was week and contradictory. No one demanded that my second witness appear. No one was interested in the threats or lack of investigation.
I will never forget Magistrate Potgieter’s irritated demeanour and her offhanded dismissal of the case for lack of evidence when there obviously was evidence. I’d waited 10 months to get to court but it was over in a few minutes.
* * * * * *
Interestingly, Magistrate Potgieter retired but would rejoin the Knysna Magistrates’ Court when they became short staffed. In between, she made two negative remarks to me online, of which I could only find the lesser for this book. She also questionably liked a comment against me.
My post criticised DA East Region Manager Jaco Londt for failing to act against DA corruption. I also mentioned Mark Allan repeatedly breaking the protection order I had against him, signed by Chief Magistrate Isak van der Merwe, Magistrate Potgieter’s previous boss. Those should’ve been things that Potgieter could relate to but, instead, she said:
“Your whole Love Knysna is about your political issues! Maybe you must look at others towns on FB and what they are discussing. Much more interesting than your stories.”
No smoking gun but she lied that Love Knysna was only political, was childishly snarky and never acted like someone interested in justice. Her behaviour was peculiar and biased.
When I made a post about exposing Advocate Seton for being behind Knysna Knews, Cara Bergmann criticised me for questioning the DA and, generally, ranted illogically. Bergmann (maiden name Monk) lived in Australia. Her behaviour was easily explained by her being aunt of Bernice Hodgson and them being related to the well known family, the Monks of Knysna. I’d exposed Hodgson and her boyfriend, James Warwick, for fleecing approximately 40 people of their rental deposits before fleeing town. I’d labelled it as the Knysna Rent scam and published several articles, one entitled the ‘Vampires of Knysna’.
Magistrate Potgieter’s would’ve known Advocate Seton from the Court and, if anything, should’ve been disturbed by what Seton had been up to. Considering her profession and the smallness of Knysna, it’s likely she was aware of the scam which had been the biggest gossip in town. Potgieter’s strange response was to like Bergmann’s comment against me. That was either bias against me, bias for the Monk family, or both. For this book I checked. Potgieter has a Monk among her few Facebook friends. Bias is a worrying trait in a Magistrate.
It’s reasonable to conclude that Magistrate Potgieter never liked me. As I will show later, I have a Hate Club in the Knysna Magistrates’ Court.
* * * * * *
After my negative experiences, I created www.knysnacrimewatch.co.za (since taken down). I posted about crime and criticised the police where they’d obviously failed. The new website never made me friends. I closed it after a few years, deciding that I couldn’t handle both politicians and police as enemies. I’d focus on one and leave the less scarier for another time or forever. But whilst it was running, and thereafter, I would get into trouble again.
* * * * * *
2014 made the cocaine rumour true. A R2-billion bust in the Knysna harbour became the biggest in South Africa’s history. Sabido Productions was in town to make a short documentary for Fox Crime, meaning Knysna would go international. The problem is that Sabido found lots of people to speak to but couldn’t find anyone willing to talk about the police. They said everyone was scared. I believed they had a right to be. A cloud hung over that police station.
The result was that although I wasn’t involved in that story in any meaningful way, I was the one who’d go on record. I tried to use that as an opportunity to positively say that the police are our neighbours and we must work together as a community, but that part was apparently edited out. As I never had cable, I never watched ‘Cocaine Captains’, except for the trailer.
The coverage never made my DA enemies happy and I heard that some cops were unhappy with me.
* * * * * *
I didn’t know if Detective Johann Burmeister was a good or bad cop. I’d heard stories both ways and I still have questions. My hesitation wasn’t shared by the general Public. He was considered to be among the few positive authority figures in town.
I chose to support Burmeister when I believed he was framed by his colleagues. The matter seemed to be a simple choice between logic and illogic, right and wrong. It became the biggest story in Knysna, not because of me, but because Burmeister was so well known. It was one of the few occasions where I saw the Public stand up loudly for a long period of time. I was proud of them.
I attended the trial and spoke to a number of people. Rather than rewrite the story, I’m going to steal from my old blogs.
Johann Burmeister, a detective in the Knysna SAPS with 3 decades experience on the force, retrieved a stolen laptop from evidence at the Knysna police station in November 2013. His intention was to discover who the owner was. Sergeant Maurice Grootboom was in charge of evidence that day. He’s was busy taking an affidavit so let Burmeister take it without officially booking it out.
Burmeister took the laptop to IT Futures who identified the possible owner through a CV on it. Burmeister visited Jandre Dippenaar who positively identified the laptop as his. His father, Radie Dippenaar, had been the one who opened the case of theft. Full circle. Owner found.
As Burmeister didn’t have the requisite SAPS 136 ‘handover’ form on him, he told the Dippenaars that they had to fetch the laptop from the police station. Burmeister then claims he returned the laptop but cannot recall which clerk received it.
The following month, when the Dippenaars went to claim the laptop, it couldn’t be found. In 2012, Johann Burmeister is kicked off the police force and charged criminally for theft of the computer.
From the beginning, the cops who arrested Burmeister acted suspiciously.
Burmeister was strangely transported from Knysna and locked in a cell for 2 days in Plettenberg Bay where his ex-Station Commander, Colonel Michael Nolans, was the new chief. Strange because cops have been suspended (not imprisoned) for far worse.
The laptop was not found when his house was searched without a warrant.
Radie Dippenaar, the man who opened the housebreaking case in which the laptop was stolen, allegedly refused to lay charges against Burmeister, saying that Burmeister had found and returned his stolen goods before, and that he doesn’t believe him guilty.
Burmeister’s wife was strangely refused permission to see her husband while he was under arrest.
No warrant of arrest was produced and thus, if it ever existed, it’s unknown who signed for it. That arrives with other questions, before and after. Was the docket investigated appropriately before the arrest? Who was the investigating officer? Who authorised the arrest?
The action against Burmeister didn’t add up unless there was a conspiracy against him.
For the Knysna SAPS’ case against Burmeister to be tangible, this clever, successful and famous detective would have to be the dumbest criminal ever. He identified the owner of the laptop, showed it to him, and told him to collect it. That’s not the behaviour of a man with intention of theft. Even the Prosecutor’s police witnesses admitted that was not the behaviour they’d expect of a criminal and all, without exception, testified to Burmeister’s trustworthy reputation.
In his 32 years in the South African Police Services (SAPS), Burmeister had never had his trustworthiness questioned except when he tried to protect a witness in the recent Knysna Waterfront cocaine bust.
The chain of evidence showed that Sergeant Maurice Grootboom handed the laptop over to Warrant Office Christopher Appels who handed it over to Sergeant Carmen Coetzee. Coetzee, along with Warrant Officer Abrahams Coetzee, was responsible for the evidence store room at the back of the police station.
Successive monthly audits by Captains compared their lists to the registry entries supplied by Coetzee. They sent certificates to provincial headquarters that all property was accounted for.
Fingers needed pointing at many for possible bad auditing and lack of control. They were in contravention of standing orders. The responsibility, ultimately, rested with Coetzee.
Instead, Warrant Officer Johann Burmeister was treated as the only suspect by Colonel Jeffrey Matiwane and Captain Patrick Gogwana, and then booted out the force. He was then criminally charged and Thibedi, a senior prosecutor based in George, strangely decided to pursue an unsubstantiated case.
Colonel Matiwane was then promoted to a more important position in George Cluster under which Knysna falls. He became one of the most senior policemen there, along with Colonel Chris Marnewick and Colonel Derek Daniels. Captain Gogwana remained in Knysna and was promoted to Major.
All the names mentioned played a rolet in Burmeister’s trial. Several featured in the alleged rumoured conspiracy against Burmeister.
Colonel Matiwane, in his statement to the internal disciplinary inquiry, said that he’d met with Sgt Coetzee before making his decision to prosecute Burmeister. When Godwana was called to Matiwane’s office, Coetzee was there. That suggested consultation with Coetzee which was strange as she should have been the prime suspect.
Colonel Marnewick was said to be the long-term lover of Coetzee.
Colonel Daniels was seen in the court room, on the first day of trial. He pretended to be unobtrusive but those sitting near him said he was recording the trial. He was then seen by several, including myself, seemingly coaching Coetzee on the bench outside.
It is important to note that Daniels was the Head of Crime Intelligence for the Southern Cape. What was he doing getting involved in an alleged case of petty theft? It added to the conspiracy theory.
The 3 days of court drama carried every human emotion, from on-the-edge-of-your-seat expectation and anger (at witnesses trapping themselves in lies) to frustrating boredom as the the same witnesses muttered inanities such as “I dunno” (when they should know) a thousand times. Most importantly, there was overwhelming happiness and justifiable self-righteousness at the end.
Advocate Bruwer poked holes in the State’s case so that all they had left was nothing. Magistrate Torlage condemned the cops who’d been witness against Burmeister. He considered all of them, except Captain Michelle Lesch, to have committed fraud or perjury. Lesch, who was about to retire, had stated that Burmeister was honest . Her testimonty was invaluable as she explained how the other officers had failed to follow their “standing orders”, the rules and regulations governing their conduct and action.
It’s still unknown why Burmeister was framed. The 2 biggest rumours were that it related to the cocaine bust and that, as was happening elsewhere in the country, white officers were being forced out.
Knysna treated Burmeister’s win as their own.
The Burmeisters invited me to the celebration party at a restaurant that evening. There, Advocate Bruwer and I shared drinks, him telling me that his wife was a fan of my blogging. I also met Mark Beard, the owner of Autolink and my cyberstalker who most wished for my death. Except that I never knew it was him, and that he’d sponsored the food and drinks. It was noisy and he only spoke to me for a few seconds, saying something along the lines of, “I don’t support your other stuff but appreciate you for supporting Burmie.”
Burmeister’s battle was long from over. Whilst his enemies got promoted, he was kept off the force and had to fight for his benefit. They also came at him in other ways. He had a heart attack from the stress. One of his daughters attempted suicide.
So I remained a member of the Burmie support group and made more posts. However, Mark Beard used his leverage as one their main sponsors to force me off the group. I felt betrayed by the Burmeisters. I would later discover it was Beard I’d met at that party. On Protecting Brand Knysna, a Facebook page set up by the DA to destroy me with propaganda (including child abuse claims), he related meeting me, describing me as a freeloader.
I don’t regret supporting Burmeister’s case but the cops were notably colder towards me afterwards.
* * * * * * *
Making friends in uniform wasn’t to be.
Late 2014, American Mike was a homeless man who may have been killed. I sometimes don’t know why some issues affect me emotionally more than others but this was one of them. It frustrated me that the police didn’t seem to care.
American Mike was only known by his nickname. He was a dim-witted and had apparently been persuaded to become a squatter with some others, so that his social welfare would stretch further. They lived in abandoned cottages beside Salt River, on the opposite bank to where I would stay among the rich. Allegedly his ‘housemates’ were tik addicts and would take his money, making him sleep outside.
It was alleged that he was beaten and had his head thrust in the river after he opened the tap from the water tank, and was dreamily watching the water escape. Later he died.
It was a death obviously worthy of investigation except that the police were evasive and wouldn’t act on the information I gave them, such as one of the alleged assailants wearing a bandage after the attack. Yet they issued the following statement:
“A post-mortem to determine the cause of death was conducted. The results do not indicate that a crime was committed. No evidence is available at this stage to link this discovery to a crime. This investigation has not been concluded yet. Information received from members of the public was followed-up. Further investigation into this matter continues.”
I’d had an awful relationship with the Knysna-Plett Herald but under the new editor, Ingrid Erlank, they’re were opening up. Aneoschka von Meck, a journalist, took up my story and asked for family members to identify who American Mike was. Amazingly, one of them did, from the USA. Then both the brother and sister contacted me.
The irony of the story is that American Mike’s family told me that he used to help homeless people in Cape Town until the police beat him and left him a bit dim-witted.
I arranged a cremation with the extremely helpful manager of HS Perks Funeral Home.
* * * * * * *
MY DRAFT BECOMES TATTERED AT THIS POINT BUT I INCLUDE SNIPPETS
I Expect More Than This From the Police
I expect more from the police.
Last year, this was a comment about me by a Captain in our Knysna SAPS on a page run by a DA politician: “Poor man, must be a very lonely person. If only the people of Knysna would stop enabling him, he will have to pack his bags and go! Hopefully to a place far from here.”
It’s an inappropriate response to me, an activist, fighting corruption. It’s no surprise that the comment was liked by a municipal employee who robbed our town, two DA politicians who associated me falsely with child abuse, and a well known businessmen who was supportive of their propaganda campaign.
* * * * * * *
Dear Colonel Michael Taylor, If I’m Arrested… (2016-04-04 14:49)
Dear Colonel Michael Tayor, Station Commander for Knysna SAPS, please consider this if you arrest me…
The duty of a policeman is to protect and serve, a constant pursuit of Justice. It’s supposed to be a calling, not a job, the employment of passionately, civicly minded people who operate as law enforcers of the public trust.
For the Station Commander, the leader of such virtuous men and women, it’s imperative to be, along with the Chief Magistrate and the Control Prosecutor, the compass for a town’s morality.
I contact you in the hope that you believe in that spirit of perseverance and duty.
I contact you in the shadow of the Knysna SAPS having failed to serve me, so much so that it must be considered that they’ve chosen to hamper justice where it concerns those who would do me damage.
I contact you because several station commanders and other high ranking policemen have lied to me. There have even been officers who’ve threatened me.. but i don’t pursue that because, in Knysna, we have been taught to be scared of the police.
Adding to this emails’s urgency is that there are politically driven people seeking to have me arrested. It’s a cruel irony that one of them should’ve been arrested, on my behalf, but the Knysna SAPS refused to. Whether it is dislike for my reporting on concerns regarding your police force, such as the Burmeister case in which local policemen seemingly framed a fellow officer, or whether it’s directly political bias, the consequence is a political favouring of the Democratic Alliance.
I will defeat this cabal of cyberstalkers in Court, those who have so blatantly and arrogantly stated their intentions to have me arrested online… but that does not mean i will not be arrested so i wish to state, for the record, that i’m not a flight risk.
- I’m a activist and, whether supported or fought, one of the most well known people in our town.
2. It’s as well known that i work for free so, consequently, i’m a poor man.
3. It’s public knowledge that i submitted, to Parliament, allegations of political and municipal corruption in Knysna, the same allegations the SAPS illegally wouldn’t investigate. It’s also public knowledge that i’ve experienced a vicious online attack since then and that some of those matters have been given court dates. More will follow.
As i’m not a flight risk (and intending fighting them as hard as i can), there’s no reason to hold me after possible arrest. I should be granted a court date and fair bail immediately. There is no reason to not arrest me politely and conveniently in the morning on a weekday, not at night and not over a weekend.
In light of past experiences, that will be viewed as intimidation when the your station and I eventually have our own court case regards other matters. Of course, i hope, that you prevent the latter. As you are in charge, you are the only person who can.
I contact you with an open letter because, for months, you have failed to respond to my request for a meeting. I hope that you reconsider and meet me soon, on neutral territory, over coffee in town.
I want to live in a world where the police are our friends. Please let that begin with you.
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Last week found me being fingerprinted in a smelly section of the Knysna jail. I prepared 3 reports for consideration by the Public Protector…
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The SAPS shaking my hand and promising cooperation. It was a lie…