(Editor's Note: he was convicted and given a thirteen-year sentence.)

Mzwakhe remains defiant, continuing to criticize those former opponents of apartheid now in positions of state power. He says they could do more to redistribute the wealth than merely take a greater share for themselves. Consequently, he has been left to twist in the wind, buffeted by a police and a judicial system still dominated by "old guard" functionaries who have escaped the public atrocity revelations of the recently concluded Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

The African National Congress has been unwilling to take a stand on his behalf, partly to avoid being seen as interfering with due process (especially with an election scheduled in a few months) and probably to avoid giving credence to Mzwakhe's charges of official corruption. No doubt Mzwakhe's continued outspokenness, as in the apartheid days, has made him powerful enemies in the new South Africa.

As Mzwakhe sees it, he was framed in the bank robbery because he was getting ready to blow the whistle on government corruption, arms smuggling and drug trafficking. He had contacted local security authorities and was about to see President Mandela himself on the matter when his arrest took place.

His efforts to root out corruption had drawn hostile fire before. Indeed, in September 1996, an attempt was made on his life. He publicly condemned the police for their inability to find the would-be killers who riddled his car with bullets.

Then, on October 28, 1997, he got an anonymous phone call from someone who claimed to have information on the assassination attempt. Lured to Pretoria on this pretext, he was given something that, he says, supposedly contained the names of his assailants. Almost immediately thereafter, he says he was stopped by the police, who examined the contents of the vehicle and found R15,000. The police claimed the money was stolen from a nearby bank. He was then accused of the crime and arrested, with the gun he carried to protect himself from potential attacks confiscated and cited as further evidence of his crime.

The oddity is that R15,000 doesn't add up to very much money. When translated into the then-current exchange rate of rands to dollars, it's only $3,500 or so--hardly enough to entice someone of Mzwakhe's fame to rob a bank. Not only is he instantly recognizable at 6'4" tall and due to his best-selling recording artist status, but he routinely received $3,000 to $4,000 for each of his performances this year and had just banked a check for $100,000 for a music spot he did endorsing the national railway system (though His bank account has now been frozen by court order).

Mzwakhe sees himself as a politically engaged musician.

"I am like a mirror in the society and reflect the true situation. I do not fictionalize. I do not worship leaders nor governments. The struggle is not yet over. The material conditions of the people in the townships are deteriorating. Silence is no longer golden when taxpayers' money is daily squandered by government officials.

Corruption and rot has reached unprecedented levels. The Mandela-led government must re-dedicate its commitment to the poor, because those are the people who voted them in power. The struggle was waged under the banner of, 'the people shall govern,' not 'the leaders shall govern...' Failure to alleviate unemployment, homelessness and untold poverty in the townships will result in an uprising.

Our situation is like a powder keg. The people on the ground are angry. In the future, mass anger will transform itself into civil disobedience. Life after Mandela--won't be rosy, but thorny. The government of the day has failed us. People were promised heaven on earth, and this promise has become a mirage. The South African people cannot be fooled all the time. The absence of war does not mean peace. I refer to our situation as 'freedom on a silver platter.'"

Such frank and opinionated talk has apparently put Mzwakhe in the bad graces of the powers that be. Yet his will has not been broken, even though conditions in prison have predictably been abominable. At first, in maximum security, he found himself in the same cell with apartheid-era criminal Janus Walusz, the admitted murderer of anti-apartheid activist Chris Hani, a personal friend of Mzwakhe's.

(Editor's Note: At Hani's funeral Mzwakhe recited the oration, "Chris the Doyen," which was recorded on his album, "Resistance is Defence.")

The cell they shared was itself on Death Row, about fifty steps from the gallows. Despite the hostile environment, in April 1996, Mzwakhe found the fortitude to lead a hunger strike calling for the expansion of visitor rights.

He shares his cell with 64 other prisoners. The single toilet requires a bucket of water to flush. No hot water is available, and electicity is sporadic. New prisoners (overwhelmingly black) routinely arrive bitten by police dogs and are repeatedly assaulted by the warders once there.

Legal proceedings so far have proved a fiasco. Mzwakhe has faced an endless series of well-orchestrated courtroom delays, hostile judges and repeated denials of bail. On top of this, he learned that the bank security cameras were conveniently turned off the day of the robbery. Then witnesses recanted their testimony against him or disappeared, and even an arresting police officer committed suicide just before a court date.

"The justice system is still the same as under the apartheid regime. Apartheid appointees--judges and magistrates--continue to run the country through the courts. The so-called 'independent judiciary' is just a myth. Human rights in South Africa is a circus. Here in prison, people question my sacrifice and dedication to the past and, because of my imprisonment, express their doubts about the sincerity of the present regime.

Since his arrest Mzwakhe has had more than 1,000 visitors.

(Editor's note: by the beginning of the year 2000, the visitor count at prison exceeded 3,000.)

Each time he has appeared in the courtroom, it has been packed with militant supporters and adoring fans who are outraged by his situation. Outside South Africa, the international community has rallied behind Mzwakhe, and his case presently is being considered by Amnesty International.

Meanwhile, he tries to make new music. Just before the August car accident involving legendary producer/musician West Nkosi (who was paralyzed and then died on 8 October as a result of his injuries), Nkosi laid down some tracks that he planned to overlay with some tracks recorded with Mzwakhe in prison. EMI/CCP Records was interested in pursuing the idea before the end of this year, although with Nkosi's death the fate of the project remains unclear.

(Editor's Note: EMI released the new album, "Mzwakhe Mbuli Greatest Hits: Born Free, But Always in Chains" in April 1999.

Mzawkhe has vowed that until his release, "My pen will roll without a stop."

And it has. His latest prison poem, given to me during my visit, is bitter but reveals the inner strength that Mzwakhe has been able to call upon during his incarceration: