Hon Chair of Chairs, the EFF extends its heartfelt condolences to the bereaved family, colleagues and associates of the late Mr Michael Coetzee, a combatant and a fighter to the end.
Lalani ngelinceba baka-Coetzee, madvudvu nine bekunene. [Coetzee family, kindly receive our heartfelt condolences, be comforted.]
While going through his obituary at the memorial service that we attended last week, it is clear that a spear had fallen. Many spears have fallen ever since the time of land dispossession and wars of resistance, and some of those spears were not worth picking up. However, this is one spear that must be picked up, just like the spears of our struggle heroes and fighters, Ngungunyane, Hintsa, Dingane, Sekhukhune and many other great martyrs of our heroic struggle.
In the short space of time that we have been present in Parliament, we came to conclude that Mr Michael Coetzee's conduct was the epitome of a nonpartisan public servant. Despite his roots in the life and culture of the party that the EFF contested robustly, he conducted himself impartially, and was not hostile or biased towards the glorious movement of the left. Of particular mention is his readiness to go the extra mile, assisting the EFF's advance team long before other parties landed in Parliament for the swearing-in ceremony.
He directed his officials to leave no stone unturned in ensuring that the EFF was well-orientated prior to the actual on-board training of new members. The EFF is proud of his legacy and looks forward to a continuation of the same by his team consisting of Mr Xaso, Adv Phindela, Mr Mahlangu, Mr Nkuna and Ms Linda Harper. He instructed and directed her to leave no stone unturned in assisting the EFF.
Once upon a time there lived a man called Methuselah. He was born and lived for 969 years. He died, and that is all that can be said of him. However, in Commissar Michael Coetzee, a commissar of the glorious underground structures, trained in Lesotho, no words, pages and times are enough to fully write his story. We dip our banner in salute of a fallen hero.
From Walt Whitman, I read:
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
We thank you. [Applause.]