The Tšolo affair

• A stain of impunity and a nation betrayed
• Lesotho is open for business, but the business is corruption

TEBOHO KHATEBE MOLEFI

In the quiet courtrooms of the Palace of Justice in Maseru, where integrity is supposed to resonate with the weight of law, another deafening silence has fallen. The corruption case against former Minister in the Prime Minister’s Office, Temeki Tšolo, has been struck from the roll.

Not with a bang of vindication, but with the weary, predictable whimper of institutional failure. This is not merely the closure of a file, it is an autopsy of a corpse – the corpse of accountability in Lesotho.

The Tšolo affair is a masterclass in how a nation’s anti-corruption infrastructure, from investigation to prosecution, can be meticulously dismantled, not by overt force, but by a corrosive combination of incompetence, indifference and what appears to be a calculated apathy.

The allegations at the heart of this case are as serious as they get. Tšolo, wielding significant power at the heart of the All Basotho Convention-led government, was accused of corruptly orchestrating a multi-million Maloti solar energy deal with the German company, Frazer Solar GmbH.

This was not a minor bureaucratic indiscretion, it was a suspected grand larceny of public funds, a betrayal of us as a nation that trusts its leaders to steward scarce resources for development, not for personal enrichment.

The stench of the deal was so potent it crossed borders, ending up in South African courts, a humbling testament to the fact that our own systems were initially bypassed in the pursuit of truth.

That Tšolo was eventually charged at home offered a flicker of hope – a sign that perhaps, finally, the long arm of the law could reach the highest echelons of power.

That hope has now been extinguished.

The question every Mosotho should be asking, with fury and despair, is not whether Tšolo is guilty or innocent. That is a matter for a trial that, scandalously, will now never happen. The paramount question is, who killed this case?

The answer lies in a trinity of failure, the Directorate on Corruption and Economic Offences (DCEO), the Lesotho Mounted Police Service (LMPS) and the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP).

Together, they have formed an unholy alliance of inadequacy, ensuring that justice remains a privilege for the connected, not a right for the citizenry.

Let me begin with the DCEO, our supposed shield against the vampiric draining of state resources. An anti-corruption body’s currency is its credibility, its armour is its independence, and its weapon is meticulous, fearless investigation. In the Tšolo case, the DCEO appears to have been bankrupt, naked and unarmed.

Reports suggest an investigation so lethargic and so porous that it was doomed from the start, or maybe there was no investigation at all from the onset. Critical evidence was not gathered in a timely manner, key witnesses were seemingly not approached with urgency, and the entire process moved at a pace that suggests not diligence, but deliberate delay.

This is a classic tactic of impunity. Time is the ally of the accused in such cases. Memories fade, documents disappear, witnesses become reluctant or unavailable. By allowing the investigation to languish, the DCEO effectively engineered its own inability to proceed.

Was this a case of being outmanoeuvred by sophisticated lawyers? Or was it something more sinister – a lack of political will, or worse, a quiet instruction to ensure the case never reached a point of conviction? When an anti-corruption body fails to act with speed and rigour, it ceases to be a defender of the people and becomes a facilitator of corruption.

The DCEO’s performance in this instance has been a profound dereliction of duty, rendering it a paper tiger whose roar is a whisper and whose bite is non-existent.

Then, we have the LMPS. Their role in such complex financial crimes is crucial, often acting on the instructions of the DCEO or DPP to make arrests, secure premises and protect evidence.

Yet, the LMPS is an institution crippled by its own internal challenges, chronic underfunding and a reputation for being susceptible to political influence. In high-stakes cases involving powerful figures, the police must be an impenetrable bulwark against obstruction.

There are always whispers of evidence going missing, of dockets being lost, of intimidating visits to witnesses. While these remain allegations, the failure to secure a trial fuels these very suspicions.

The police’s role is not passive, it is actively to ensure that the course of justice is unimpeded. If they cannot, or will not, provide the robust executive arm of the law, then the entire justice system is paralysed from the neck down.

But the most shocking failure, the final nail in the coffin of this case, lies with the office of the DPP. This office holds the ultimate power, the discretion to charge and the responsibility to prosecute without fear or favour. It is the linchpin of the entire system.

In striking the case from the roll, Justice Tšeliso Mokoko’s hand was forced by the prosecution’s spectacular inability to be ready for trial. Repeated postponements for failure to prosecute, assemble and subpoena witnesses – an apparent lack of preparation – speak of an office that is either catastrophically under-resourced or deliberately negligent.

This is where the betrayal cuts deepest. The DPP is not just any state agency, it is the guardian of public justice. When it fails to prosecute a high-profile corruption case, it sends a devastating message that some people are too powerful to be touched.

It tells the young graduate who cannot get a job without a bribe that the system is rigged.

It tells the entrepreneur who loses a tender to a connected rival that merit is a myth.

It tells the nurse and the teacher, who watch their budgets gutted by graft, that their sacrifice is in vain.

It normalises corruption as the way things are done, stripping the nation of its moral compass and its economic future.

The DPP’s failure in the Tšolo case is not an isolated administrative error, it is a political act. It actively undermines democracy and entrenches a culture of impunity. It tells every would-be corrupt official that the risks are negligible.

That all you need is a good lawyer, the passage of time and a prosecution service that either cannot or will not do its job. The promise of the rule of law – that all are equal before it – is exposed as a cruel lie.

The collateral damage of this debacle is immense, and we are the primary victims. Every Loti stolen is a classroom not built, a clinic not stocked, a road not paved. It is a direct theft from the pockets of the poorest and most vulnerable.

Furthermore, it is a disaster for foreign investment. What sane international company would want to engage with a government where multi-million dollar deals are shrouded in allegations of corruption and the judiciary is seemingly powerless to hold anyone accountable?

So, where do we go from here? To simply lament this failure is to be complicit in the next one. We must demand answers, not in vague official statements, but through concrete action.

First, the DCEO requires a complete overhaul. It needs a guaranteed budget, insulated from political interference, and must be staffed by specialised, well-trained investigators with the resources to pursue complex financial crimes. Its leadership must be appointed through an inclusive, transparent process based on merit and proven integrity.

Second, the LMPS must undergo serious reform, with a focus on establishing a dedicated, highly vetted financial crimes unit that is protected from political pressure. Corruption within the police force itself must be rooted out mercilessly.

Third, and most critically, the DPP must be held to account. Parliament must summon the Director to explain, in precise detail, why this case collapsed. Was it a lack of resources? A lack of evidence? Or a lack of will? The answer will determine whether the office needs a massive injection of funding and support, or a completely new leadership.

The striking off of the Tšolo case is a verdict not on the accused, but on the state of Lesotho itself. It is a verdict that finds us guilty of tolerating the intolerable. We have built institutions with the appearance of fighting corruption but have hollowed them out, leaving a façade that crumbles at the first test of a powerful individual.
True justice is not a theoretical concept, it is delivered in courtrooms through evidence, argument, and verdict. By failing to deliver that justice, the DCEO, the police, and the prosecution have not just failed in their duties – they have failed the Basotho nation. They have told us that our hopes for a cleaner, more accountable government are naive.

They have told us that the powerful play by a different set of rules. Until we, the people, demand a radical and uncompromising overhaul of these broken institutions, the Temeki Tšolo of this world will continue to thrive in the shadow of the law, while the nation continues to bleed.

This case has single-handedly set back our reputation for governance by more than a decade.