Senzo Mchunu rejects ties to 'Cat' Matlala as KZN police chief alleges interference

The claims, the denials, and the stakes for policing

South Africa’s police minister says he has never met “Cat” Matlala — ever. In a blunt rebuttal to a swirl of allegations, Senzo Mchunu insists he has had no contact with Vusimuzi Matlala, a businessman depicted by critics as an underworld figure with reach inside the state. He also downplays any bond with Oupa “Brown” Mogotsi, saying they share political roots but nothing more.

The counter-narrative comes from KwaZulu-Natal police commissioner Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, who alleges that Matlala bragged about influence with the minister and pushed to disrupt the political killings task team. He also claims Mogotsi meddled in policing, touching sensitive investigations. These are not small accusations; they go to the heart of how the police handle high-stakes crime and political violence.

Mchunu’s line is straightforward: he does not know Matlala, he has never asked him for anything, and he has never received anything. On Mogotsi, he says the relationship is not operational — they are “comrades,” not partners. His office says that when questions surfaced around a SAPS-linked tender involving Mogotsi, he triggered a review rather than protecting anyone.

Matlala, meanwhile, has been tied to a R360‑million health services tender awarded last year. The size of that contract has drawn scrutiny over who approved what, who benefited, and whether the deal met the standards set by procurement law. It is part of a larger pattern: in recent years, outsized tenders in health and security have repeatedly raised red flags about process and oversight.

At the center of this storm is the political killings task team — a unit set up to tackle assassinations that have scarred KwaZulu-Natal for years. Disrupting that team, if proven, would risk more than just missed arrests. It would cut at the safety of whistleblowers, councillors, and activists caught in the crosshairs of local power struggles.

Commissioner Mkhwanazi’s claims are being aired at the Madlanga Commission, where he is expected to lay out what he believes shows interference in police work. Commissions of inquiry in South Africa are not criminal courts, but they operate under oath and can sift large volumes of documents, messages, and testimony. Their findings often trigger criminal referrals, disciplinary action, or wholesale policy changes.

The contrast between versions is stark. Mkhwanazi describes a network that leaned on investigators and tried to steer sensitive cases. Mchunu rejects that picture and frames himself as the one who insisted on reviews when smoke appeared. Sorting fact from spin now lands with the commission — and, in time, with prosecutors, Parliament, and internal SAPS watchdogs.

Context matters here. KZN’s violent politics prompted the Moerane Commission years ago and pushed police to create specialist capacity for assassination cases. That work has never been easy: witnesses go missing, hitmen are professional, and cases cross political and business interests. Any suggestion that outsiders leaned on detectives risks shaking public trust in an already stretched service.

The procurement angle is just as important. Section 217 of the Constitution requires fairness, transparency, and cost-effectiveness in public tenders. Oversight by the Auditor-General and National Treasury exists for precisely this reason. When a contract as large as R360m raises eyebrows, the normal response is to pull the paperwork, test the scoring, and check whether conflict-of-interest rules were followed.

Mchunu’s spokesperson, Kamogelo Mogotsi, says the minister did exactly that when whispers surfaced about a SAPS tender tied to Brown Mogotsi. The message: action, not cover. Critics will ask when the review started, how far it went, and whether the findings led to consequences. Those details will matter more than headlines.

For the police, the immediate risk is operational. If detectives believe powerful people can derail their work, they hold back. If communities believe the police are compromised, they stop sharing information. Either way, murder cases slow, and hitmen keep moving.

The commission now becomes the arena for proof. Expect attention on phone records, meeting diaries, access logs at police headquarters, and any WhatsApp or email trails that suggest pressure on investigators. Procurement files — bid documents, evaluation minutes, conflict declarations — may also come into play to test whether tenders were clean.

The politics are unavoidable. A police minister under scrutiny faces questions in Parliament, including from the portfolio committee on police and committees watching procurement. If evidence suggests wrongdoing or even gross negligence, the pressure to act grows — from internal party structures, opposition benches, and the Presidency. If the evidence falls flat, the narrative swings the other way, toward consequences for those who made the claims.

What about Mogotsi? Mkhwanazi paints him as a player leaning into policing. Mchunu says he is simply a comrade, not an operator inside SAPS. That gap will be tested by any documentary proof placing Mogotsi in conversations, meetings, or corridors where he had no reason to be.

The political killings task team will feature again and again in testimony. Who tried to move its cases? Who questioned its staffing? Who gave or withdrew resources? Timeline and motive are crucial: if a case was narrowed or a detective moved soon after an external approach, that is evidence; if not, it may be coincidence.

These allegations also touch how a national minister and a provincial commissioner relate. South African policing is nationally managed, but provinces carry the heat when bullets fly. When lines blur — who gives operational instructions, who sets policy — room opens for tension and, sometimes, intervention that looks like interference.

Beyond the commission, other institutions may step in. The Independent Police Investigative Directorate can probe potential misconduct by police officials. The Special Investigating Unit, if authorised, can dig into tenders. The Hawks can chase organised crime angles if they surface in testimony.

The public will want specifics, not slogans. Did Matlala ever set foot in SAPS buildings? Was he seen with senior officers? Are there payment flows or front companies tied to tenders? Did Mogotsi communicate with detectives or commanders about live cases? These are evidence questions, not political ones.

For now, Mchunu is banking on a clear, repeated denial and the fact that he initiated a review when flags were raised. That is a defensible starting point, but it needs documentation. Paper trails cut through accusation and counteraccusation — and this case appears to have plenty of paper, messages, and access logs to examine.

Political killings in KZN have a long memory. Cases ripple through party structures, municipalities, and business forums. The promise of a task team was to protect investigations from exactly this kind of pressure. If that promise buckled, even briefly, the cost is paid in communities where violence has become part of local politics.

The commission is unlikely to settle everything quickly. Witnesses can be recalled. Evidence can be declassified. Subpoenas can stretch timelines. But each session puts another brick in the wall, either supporting the interference story or dismantling it piece by piece.

What should readers look for next? Dates and data. Do diaries and phone pings corroborate meetings and calls? Do procurement records match the official line? Do senior officers back Mkhwanazi’s account under oath, or do they distance themselves from it?

There is also the question of consequences. If the commission points to systemic gaps — in procurement vetting or in shielding detectives — the fixes will be technical: stronger conflict checks, clearer lines between policy and operations, tighter visitor controls at police buildings. It is not glamorous work, but it is how trust is rebuilt.

For those named, reputations are already on the line. For investigators, the signal matters: are they protected when they resist pressure? For the public, the baseline is simple — the police must be able to investigate without fear, and big-money tenders must be honestly won. Anything less deepens cynicism and makes the next crisis harder to contain.

What the inquiry could test — and why it matters

Commissions do their best work when they drag detail into daylight. Expect document-heavy sessions, guided questions, and cross-references across testimonies. The absence of a paper trail can be just as telling as its presence.

• Access: Visitor logs at SAPS offices, security footage, and access-card records to verify who met whom, and when.
• Communications: Phone billing, encrypted app recoveries, and email headers to map contact patterns.
• Procurement: Bid scoring sheets, conflict declarations, and Treasury correspondence to confirm compliance or expose shortcuts.
• Operations: Case allocation records, transfer memos, and resource requests around the political killings task team.

None of this decides guilt on its own. But together it can show pressure points and patterns — the difference between loose talk and actual interference. If the commission joins those dots, it will set up the next steps for law enforcement and Parliament to act.

Until then, two claims stand in direct opposition: a commissioner describing outsiders with reach, and a minister rejecting any tie to those names. The outcome depends on records, not rhetoric. And that is exactly what the country will be watching as the hearings roll on.