Pravin Gordhan: Mind maps and greasy toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches

I met Pravin Gordhan on my first, nervous day in Parliament in 1994. He stuck his head through the door of my office on the fourth floor of the New Wing and said: “Hello neighbour” before introducing himself and offering any support I might need. We quickly became good friends and would frequently share a mid-morning greasy, toasted cheese and tomato sandwich with tea from the parliamentary canteen in one of our adjacent offices.  

As luck would have it, I was also assigned to the Portfolio Committee on Constitutional Development, Provincial Affairs and Local Government which he was chair of. 

Being chair, Pravin eventually got a bigger (corner) office a few doors down the passage which over overlooked Tuynhuys.  It was  meticulously organised, but sparsely furnished, with only a few personal photos on the wall as well as a poster of a row of meerkats - their heads turned to the left - with the title: “Always turn to the left” on the walls. 

It was here that a group of us would debate deep into the night how to change the constitutional and local government landscape for the future. 

Having grown up in an academic environment, I was used to engaging with very intelligent people, but Pravin’s intellect was simply breathtaking. I would watch in awe as, in his small and neat handwriting, he would draw complicated mind maps to explain his thoughts to our lesser intellects.  It was this phenomenal capacity to not only understand, but also devise solutions to complex problems that would ultimately be his biggest gift to South Africa. 

He played a central role during the constitutional negotiations at Kempton Park that led to the 1994 elections. During the writing of the final constitution, he again played a key role. Despite being a few decades older than me he seemed to have endless energy and would work through the night when most of us (and especially the opposition) faded. One of my favourite photographs of that time features me sitting next to him in the Old Assembly on the final night of constitutional negotiations. It was around 3 am and Pravin is energetically reporting back, while the rest of us are about to fall over. 

Surprisingly he didn’t get a cabinet post during the first term and in 1998 he left parliament to become the Commissioner of SARS. At the time his close friend Yunus Carrim was asked by a journalist how Pravin, who was trained as a pharmacist and had no previous experience in tax management, could make a success of such a complex institution, Yunus  answered: “Pravin always gets things done. He knows nothing of fencing, but if you made him manager of the national fencing team – we would soon win the world championship.”

Yunus was, of course, right. Pravin blossomed and made SARS a world class institution. (He would have equal success in almost all the ministries he would later occupy). This he did - not only by making visionary changes but by “sweating the small stuff”. While he was Commissioner of SARS, I once had dinner with him. Our conversation was interrupted on more than one occasion by a phone call that he answered with a “well done, Mr. (add some Afrikaans surname)! I am proud of you. Keep it up.” When I finally asked what it was all about, he explained that they were managers in various SARS offices reporting that they had met their targets. 

“This, together with the fact that he did not suffer fools gladly, did not always endear him with staff and some comrades. ”

The fact that they had his personal number or that it was late in the evening should not have surprised me. Pravin’s work ethic was simple: he worked harder than most other people and he kept an eye on detail. He also expected those around him to do the same. This, together with the fact that he did not suffer fools gladly, did not always endear him with staff and some comrades. 

Neither did the fact that he was principled - both privately and publicly. He fearlessly stood his ground during the Zuma/Gupta years and on a few occasions – pulled the country back from disaster.  Who will ever forget how then President Zuma begrudgingly brought him back as Minister of Finance after the catastrophic few days of Des van Rooyen? 

His political principledness was also evident in his private life. 

A life-long pragmatic Marxist, he was never seduced by the riches and trappings of wealth – unlike so many other political elites. As far as I know he never bought a luxury vehicle and his beloved Mont Blanc pen was one of the few – possibly only – luxury items he ever owned. 

Pravin’s work-ethic and introverted nature meant that he didn’t drink or party with his colleagues and comrades after work. This resulted in him sometimes lacking the broad-based support in his own party when he needed it – such as when the smear campaigns started. 

Still, behind the brilliant intellect and hard worker there was a soft heart. Those close to him would vouch for his loyalty as a friend and his love for his wife and daughters were evident. It is a real tragedy that Vani, Anisha and Priyesha did not have more time to spend with him after his retirement only three months ago after a life-long dedication to the struggle for a just and democratic South Africa. 

In a statement his family said that during his final hours he remarked: “I have no regrets, no regrets. We have made our contribution”. That Pravin Gordhan certainly did. 

Hamba kahle Pravin and thank you for all you did for our country. You may rest now.