Nco Dube
Image: Supplied
THE story of the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) represents one of the most complex narratives in South Africa’s liberation history. Established in 1975 by Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi, the IFP emerged from the political laboratory of the Bantustan system – a system that would come to define both its strengths and its fundamental contradictions.
To understand the IFP’s place in South African politics today, we must grapple with its dual legacy: as both a product of apartheid’s ethnic engineering and as a movement that genuinely sought to advance African interests within the constraints of that system.
The Bantustan policy, formally initiated with the Bantu Authorities Act of 1951, was apartheid’s most sophisticated attempt to divide and conquer black resistance. By creating ethnically defined “homelands,” the National Party government sought to destroy any notion of unified black political consciousness. The IFP’s origins in this system would forever mark it with ambiguity – was it a genuine liberation movement or an instrument of apartheid’s divide-and-rule tactics?
This question becomes even more pertinent following Buthelezi’s passing in September 2023. With its founding patriarch gone, the IFP stands at a crossroads. Its future depends on whether it can reconcile its controversial past with the demands of contemporary South African politics. To assess this, we must examine the full historical arc of the IFP – from its Bantustan origins through its violent clashes with the ANC, its post-1994 governance record, and its current struggle for relevance in a rapidly changing political landscape.
An IFP flag is seen hooked on the back of a supporter’s cap. An IFP flag is seen hooked on the back of a supporter’s cap.
Image: File
The IFP’s story properly begins with the creation of the KwaZulu Bantustan in the early 1970s. The apartheid government’s homeland policy reached its full implementation during this period, with the Bantu Homelands Citizenship Act of 1970 and the Bantu Homelands Constitution Act of 1971 providing the legal framework for so-called “self-governing” territories.
Buthelezi’s appointment as Chief Minister of KwaZulu in 1972 placed him in a uniquely contradictory position. On one hand, he was clearly part of apartheid’s tribal governance structure. On the other hand, his refusal to accept nominal independence for KwaZulu in 1976 (unlike leaders of Transkei, Bophuthatswana, and later Venda and Ciskei) suggested a more nuanced approach. This decision earned him cautious respect from some anti-apartheid activists who saw him as working within the system to undermine it.
The KwaZulu administration under Buthelezi did achieve notable developmental successes. Between 1972 and 1994, the number of schools in the territory increased from 1,900 to over 5,000. Clinics were built in rural areas that had never had healthcare facilities. Roads and infrastructure projects connected previously isolated communities. For many rural Zulus, these tangible improvements contrasted sharply with the ANC’s absence during its exile years.
However, critics argue that this development came at too high a political cost. By participating in the Bantustan system, Buthelezi lent credibility to apartheid’s ethnic separatism. His emphasis on Zulu cultural nationalism, while popular in rural areas, played directly into the regime’s strategy of dividing black resistance along tribal lines. This fundamental tension – between pragmatic governance and political complicity – would define the IFP’s entire history.
Established in 1975 by the late Prince Mangosuthu Buthelezi, the writer says that the IFP emerged from the political laboratory of the Bantustan system – a system that would come to define both its strengths and its fundamental contradictions.
Image: SIBONELO NGCOBO/Independent Newspapers
When Buthelezi launched Inkatha in 1975 (initially as a cultural movement before its political transformation), he framed it as reviving the traditions of King Solomon kaDinuzulu’s 1920s Inkatha movement. This cultural grounding gave the organisation deep roots in Zulu society, particularly in rural areas where traditional authority structures remained strong.
Initially, Inkatha maintained connections with the exiled ANC. Buthelezi had been a youth league member in the 1940s and 1950s, and some ANC leaders initially saw Inkatha as a potential internal ally. However, tensions quickly emerged over fundamental strategic questions.
The ANC, influenced by its exile experience and alliances with socialist bloc countries, advocated armed struggle and international sanctions. Buthelezi, by contrast, argued that sanctions would primarily hurt black workers and that armed resistance would lead to unnecessary bloodshed. He positioned Inkatha as advocating for negotiated change through non-violent means.
This ideological divide widened throughout the late 1970s and early 1980s. The ANC increasingly saw Inkatha as a rival rather than an ally, while Buthelezi portrayed the ANC as dominated by urban intellectuals disconnected from rural realities. The apartheid regime, recognising an opportunity to divide black opposition, began covertly supporting Inkatha as a counterweight to the ANC.
The 1980s saw South Africa descend into what can only be described as a low-intensity civil war between ANC and IFP supporters. The violence was particularly intense in Natal and the townships around Johannesburg, where migrant workers from KwaZulu lived in hostels that became IFP strongholds.
Recent historical research, including documents from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), has revealed the extent of apartheid security forces’ involvement in fueling this conflict. Operation Marion, launched in 1986, saw the South African Defence Force (SADF) train and arm IFP militants, the so-called “Caprivi trainees” at secret bases in Namibia. These forces were then deployed in ANC strongholds, contributing to massacres like the one at Boipatong in 1992 where dozens of people were killed.
The Seven-Day War in Pietermaritzburg (1990) left over 200 dead and showed how ethnic tensions could erupt into full-scale urban warfare. The notorious “hostel wars” in places like Thokoza and Katlehong became symbols of the era’s brutality. For many urban residents, particularly youth aligned with the ANC-aligned United Democratic Front (UDF), the IFP became synonymous with state-sponsored violence.
Yet in rural KwaZulu, the narrative was strikingly different. There, many saw the ANC as an urban movement threatening traditional Zulu authority. Buthelezi’s portrayal of himself as defending Zulu culture against ANC radicalism resonated deeply in these areas. This urban-rural divide in perceptions of the IFP persists to this day.
The IFP’s approach to South Africa’s transition to democracy was characteristically contradictory. Initially, Buthelezi boycotted the negotiations process, demanding greater regional autonomy for KwaZulu-Natal. The IFP’s late participation in the 1994 elections (only agreeing to participate days before the vote) nearly derailed the entire transition process.
When the IFP did participate, it won control of KwaZulu-Natal with nearly 50% of the provincial vote. This victory gave the party substantial influence in the new dispensation, with Buthelezi serving as Minister of Home Affairs in Nelson Mandela’s government of national unity.
The post-1994 period saw the IFP struggle to transition from a liberation movement to a governing party. In KwaZulu-Natal, it implemented policies like the Masakhane campaign to rebuild communities devastated by political violence. However, the party also became embroiled in corruption scandals and struggled to shake its reputation for authoritarian tendencies inherited from its Bantustan days.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s findings further complicated the IFP’s position. While the TRC documented extensive human rights abuses by all sides, the IFP’s ties to apartheid security forces and its role in the violence left lasting scars. Buthelezi’s refusal to fully acknowledge this history has been a persistent obstacle to reconciliation.
With Buthelezi’s death in 2023 at the age of 95, the IFP lost its last remaining link to the liberation era. His successor, Velenkosini Hlabisa, faces the daunting task of modernising the party while maintaining its traditional support base.
The IFP’s performance in the 2024 elections was something of a surprise. While it failed to regain its former dominance in KwaZulu-Natal, it increased its national vote share and joined the ANC-led government of national unity. This pragmatic move has been interpreted both as a sign of political maturity and as a betrayal of the party’s historical opposition to the ANC.
The party’s future prospects are uncertain. On one hand, it retains significant support in rural Zulu areas, particularly among older voters and traditional leaders. On the other, it struggles to appeal to urban youth and has failed to make inroads beyond its ethnic base. The 2011 split that created the National Freedom Party (NFP) demonstrated the fragility of its support.
Two figures have emerged as potential successors to current president Velenkosini Hlabisa
Image: Facebook/IFP
As the IFP prepares for its upcoming 2025 elective conference, the party faces a critical test of its post-Buthelezi identity, with a brewing leadership contest that could redefine its future. Two figures have emerged as potential successors to current president Velenkosini Hlabisa: KwaZulu-Natal Premier Thami Ntuli, who serves as the party’s provincial chairperson, and Hlabisa himself, who holds dual roles as IFP president and national Minister of Cooperative Governance and Traditional Affairs (COGTA).
This dynamic represents more than just a personal rivalry, it reflects deeper tensions within the party between provincial power and national influence, between generational change and continuity, and between the IFP’s rural traditionalist base and its need to appeal to a modern, urbanising electorate.
KwaZulu-Natal Premier Thami Ntuli has emerged as a potential successor to current president Velenkosini Hlabisa
Image: Doctor Ngcobo/ Independent Newspapers
Ntuli’s rise as KZN Premier has positioned him as a formidable force, with strong grassroots support and a reputation for pragmatic governance. His leadership in the province where the IFP regained some ground in the 2024 elections has bolstered his credentials as a leader who can deliver electoral victories.
However, his close ties to traditional structures and his provincial focus risk pigeonholing him as a regional rather than national figure. On the other hand, Hlabisa, as the incumbent president, represents the party’s face in national government, leveraging his COGTA role to maintain relevance in coalition politics.
Yet, critics argue that his leadership lacks the dynamism needed to expand the IFP beyond its traditional strongholds. The upcoming conference will thus serve as a referendum on the party’s direction: will it double down on its Zulu nationalist roots under Ntuli, or will it pursue a more centrist, coalition-friendly path under Hlabisa? The outcome could determine whether the IFP remains a relevant opposition force or retreats further into regional irrelevance.
The IFP’s fifty-year history reflects the complexities and contradictions of South Africa’s liberation struggle. It was simultaneously:
A product of apartheid’s ethnic engineering that nonetheless achieved real development in rural areas
A movement that opposed the ANC’s revolutionary tactics while being accused of collaborating with the apartheid state
A political force that both perpetrated and suffered from terrible violence during the transition era
As South Africa moves further from its apartheid past, the IFP faces an existential question: can it transform from an ethnic-based party tied to a fading generation’s struggles into a modern political force? The answer will determine whether it survives as a relevant player or becomes a historical footnote.
Ultimately, the IFP’s legacy reminds us that South Africa’s path to freedom was never straightforward. The moral ambiguities of its history challenge simplistic narratives of good versus evil in the liberation struggle. As the country continues to grapple with its past, the IFP’s story remains an essential, if uncomfortable, part of that national conversation.
Dube is a political economist, businessman, and social commentator on Ukhozi FM and various newspapers. His views don't necessarily reflect those of the Sunday Tribune or IOL.
SUNDAY TRIBUNE