Seventeen Secret Operations: The Explosive Dossier That Could Corner South Africa’s Presidency
A document quietly surfaced three weeks ago, and since then it has begun to shake the foundations of South African politics.
According to this leaked paper, President Cyril Ramaphosa allegedly authorized 17 covert operations between 2021 and 2024 that were never disclosed to Parliament and never subjected to proper budgetary oversight by the National Treasury.
This is not rumor.
It is not speculation built on anonymous gossip.
What has emerged includes internal state documents, financial transaction trails, procurement records, and sworn testimony from individuals now prepared to speak publicly.
At the center of this unfolding crisis is a former senior intelligence official who claims he witnessed the machinery of a hidden system from the inside.
His name is Bheki Nkonza.
And what he describes is nothing less than the existence of a “second state” operating in the shadows of South Africa’s democracy.
The Man Who Finally Spoke
For 23 years, Nkonza worked inside South Africa’s intelligence structures.
His career spanned the difficult transition from apartheid-era security systems into a constitutional democracy.
He survived political changes under former president Jacob Zuma and later rose into a position of trust under Ramaphosa’s administration.
For years, he said nothing.
Not because he had nothing to say, but because he was afraid.
According to his account, Nkonza signed confidentiality agreements that came with implicit threats.
He feared legal retaliation.
More importantly, he feared for the safety of his family.
Silence, he believed, was the price of survival.
That calculation changed three months ago.
Nkonza claims that during one of the covert operations, unknown actors accessed his personal belongings.
To him, this was a warning.
Worse, it signaled that foreign intelligence operatives now believed he possessed information that could compromise them.
At that point, remaining silent no longer felt safer than speaking out.
He chose to talk.
A Seven-Hour Testimony
Nkonza’s decision to break his silence led to a seven-hour recorded interview, conducted at a secure location.
The transcript reportedly runs over 400 pages.
What it reveals is not a series of isolated excesses, but a structured system of covert activity allegedly sanctioned at the highest level of the state.
According to Nkonza, the operations were expensive, carefully compartmentalized, and deliberately shielded from constitutional oversight.
They relied not only on state intelligence officers, but also on private security contractors and foreign-linked entities, some of which he claims compromised South Africa’s sovereignty.
Most alarming is his assertion that Parliament was intentionally kept in the dark.
Operation “Sentinel Blue”
One of the most disturbing operations described is known internally as Sentinel Blue, launched in early 2021.
Publicly, Sentinel Blue was presented as a program designed to curb illicit financial flows and prevent extremist financing.
Privately, Nkonza alleges, it became something else entirely.
According to his testimony, Sentinel Blue used foreign surveillance technology to monitor individuals considered politically inconvenient.
These allegedly included:
Investigative journalists
Labor union leaders
Civil society activists
Critics of the government’s economic and political decisions
Nkonza claims that when questions were raised internally about the program’s budget and legality, those concerns were neutralized.
One senior oversight official reportedly challenged the funding.
Soon after, she withdrew her objections following what Nkonza describes as “intimidating engagements” with security operatives.
This matters because surveillance of journalists and activists strikes at the heart of constitutional freedoms, including press independence and freedom of expression.
The Money Trail No One Can Explain
Perhaps the most damning aspect of the dossier is the financial trail.
Between 2021 and 2023, approximately R1.7 billion allegedly flowed through offshore bank accounts linked to these covert operations.
This figure far exceeds any budget publicly allocated to intelligence special projects.
Nkonza points to detailed bank records showing money routed through shell companies registered in jurisdictions such as Mauritius and Cyprus.
One particularly troubling transaction involved R83 million paid to a Cyprus-based security firm that reportedly has no staff and no physical office.
Phone metadata allegedly shows frequent communication between this firm and individuals connected to the president’s personal protection unit.
If accurate, these transactions suggest deliberate efforts to conceal procurement, bypass Treasury rules, and obscure accountability.
“Coastal Watch”: Another Cover Story?
Another operation identified in the dossier is Coastal Watch.
Parliament was told it concerned maritime security and anti-smuggling efforts.
Funds were approved on that basis.
However, Nkonza claims Coastal Watch was actually used for signals interception and foreign intelligence monitoring, utilizing equipment sourced from European surveillance firms.
Such technology, he notes, has no legitimate application in fisheries protection.
Procurement allegedly occurred through non-operational front companies, allowing officials to evade regulations that would normally prohibit such purchases.
If true, Parliament approved funding under false pretenses.
Private Militias in a Democratic State?
One of the most unsettling revelations involves the use of private paramilitary contractors, referred to in the dossier as “shadow operatives.”
South African law strictly limits the role of private armed groups in intelligence and law enforcement.
Yet Nkonza describes at least six documented incidents where these operatives allegedly conducted surveillance, interrogations, and even detentions.
Contracts authorizing their work were, according to him, deliberately vague, allowing “support activities” that could mean almost anything.
The parallels to apartheid-era private security abuses are impossible to ignore.
International Consequences
The implications have already spilled beyond South Africa’s borders.
In 2022, authorities in Germany, the United Kingdom, and Australia reportedly detained South African-linked operatives accused of conducting unauthorized intelligence activities.
Diplomatic concerns were raised about whether South Africa was operating rogue surveillance networks abroad.
Several companies implicated in the new dossier were also previously linked to the Gupta network during the Zuma era, suggesting that old state-capture mechanisms may never have been dismantled—only repurposed.
The Media Under Pressure
Journalists investigating these claims have reportedly faced intimidation.
One had digital files wiped remotely.
Another received legal threats.
A third claims to have been followed by vehicles linked to state-contracted security firms.
These patterns echo Nkonza’s central claim: secrecy has become a weapon, used not to protect national security, but to shield political power from scrutiny.
Why This Could Corner the Presidency
The official explanations offered so far are increasingly fragile.
The Public Protector cleared the president of wrongdoing.
The South African Reserve Bank found no completed illegal transaction—while acknowledging that key deals were never finalized.
Now Nkonza introduces a competing narrative: that the system itself was designed to ensure no formal transaction ever reached a point where it could be legally examined.
If he can substantiate even part of his claims, this ceases to be a political scandal.
It becomes a constitutional crisis.
Because a president who authorizes covert operations without parliamentary oversight, deploys intelligence resources for political protection, and conceals massive unaccounted expenditure is no longer merely bending the rules.
He is breaking them.
A Crossroads for South Africa
South Africa now faces a defining moment.
If civil society, Parliament, and the courts demand full transparency, this scandal could strengthen democratic accountability.
If not, it may normalize a dangerous model of governance—one where secrecy replaces oversight and intelligence power replaces law.
R1.7 billion could have built schools, funded hospitals, or housed thousands of families.
Instead, according to this dossier, it vanished into shadow networks designed to protect political interests.
That is not a technical failure.
It is a moral one.
And it demands answers.
