Dare We Hope?. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela
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Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela
TAFELBERG
‘If memory is used to rekindle old hatreds, it will lead us back to continuing hatred and conflict. But if memory is used to rebuild, or to begin new relationships, that is where hope lies.’
For my father, in memoriam …
Foreword
Tonight I am reaching out to every single South African, black and white, from the very depths of my being. A white man, full of prejudice and hate, came to our country and committed a deed so foul that our whole nation now teeters on the brink of disaster. A white woman, of Afrikaner origin, risked her life so that we may know, and bring to justice, this assassin [...] This is a watershed moment for all of us. Our decisions and actions will determine whether we use our pain, our grief, and our outrage to move forward to what is the only lasting solution for our country.
Nelson Mandela, 10 April 1993
In April 1993, the former commander of the armed wing of the African National Congress (ANC), Chris Hani, was gunned down in the driveway of his home in a multiracial suburb in Boksburg, a city in the Gauteng province of South Africa. One of Hani’s neighbours, a white woman, took the registration number of the assassin’s car as he fled from the scene of the crime. She called the police, and Hani’s killer was arrested shortly after the incident.
Amidst fears that the country would erupt into violence, Nelson Mandela appeared on prime time national television on the day of Hani’s assassination to call for calm. In the minds of many black South Africans, Chris Hani epitomised the ultimate fighter for the struggle for freedom against the white apartheid government. If Nelson Mandela in prison was the embodiment of the vision for freedom, Chris Hani, as the commander of the military wing of the ANC, Umkhonto weSizwe (literally ‘the Spear of the Nation’), kept that vision alive with its concrete expression. Hani returned to South Africa after the unbanning of the ANC when all exiled anti-apartheid activists were granted indemnity shortly after the release of Nelson Mandela in February 1990. In 1993, the political negotiations for a multiparty democracy were in progress, and Hani’s assassination was seen as a ploy by the white right wing to derail the negotiations process. In the end, however, it was a historical turning point. The negotiations, which had been experiencing setbacks, moved forward with greater resolve, leading to a decision to hold South Africa’s first all-race elections in April the following year.
Nelson Mandela was not yet president when he addressed the nation to calm emotions that were threatening to explode. Yet he was already being presidential, setting the tone for the kind of leadership that South Africa needed. For Mandela then, the critical moment of Hani’s death was at once a moment of grief and a call reminding the nation of the vision of peaceful freedom, an opportunity for dialogue about the past that divided us, and an invitation to pursue the transformation of our future. South Africans heeded the call and moved forward to embrace Mandela’s quest to leave the divisions of the past behind in order to build a new country. The foundation for this was his vision that connection between former enemies was better than rekindling old hatred. Throughout his journey to restore peace in South Africa, Mandela used moments of rupture as opportunities to break open the possibility for collective reflection and connection. He introduced a new language that transformed the narrative of violence in South Africa, and for the first time, there was a strong sense of social solidarity that united South Africans across racial lines and instilled national pride.
Only a few months after the passing of Nelson Mandela in December 2013, the need to return to his vision remains clear. The mass shooting of striking mineworkers by members of the South African Police Service in Marikana, the ongoing strike by mineworkers demanding the dignity of salaries commensurate with the work they do for the Lonmin platinum mining companies, the violent demonstrations against poor service delivery in black township communities across South Africa, and the massive corruption at the highest level of government are examples of the kind of ‘watershed moment’ that Nelson Mandela refers to in the quote above. As I write this introduction, I have just participated in a special Commission set up to investigate problems of policing in Khayelitsha as one of expert witnesses called to share their insights on a range of issues related to policing and what has been termed ‘vigilante violence’ in Khayelitsha. Khayelitsha is not the only township in the Cape Town region that has experienced a rising tide of violence, where even young children have been caught up in various ways, not least the insidious trauma of witnessing violence and murder regularly. South Africa is a troubled country. As we respond with outrage to the events around the country that are threatening to shatter Mandela’s legacy, we remember his call ‘to use our pain, our grief, and our outrage’ to reconnect with our common humanity – instead of becoming stuck in despair, ‘to move forward’ and find meaning and inspiration in the richness of the lessons he left behind.
The hope that Nelson Mandela inspired was grounded in the quest for us to establish a richer sense of our identity as human beings, connected to others in the human community. He expanded the horizons of what is possible in human relationships by spearheading, as part of the political negotiations, a process of dialogue, fostering the capacity for connecting with others – even others who are former enemies – in order to confront and heal a past characterised by moral corruption and widespread violations of human rights. Twenty years ago, Nelson Mandela, leading his comrades and compatriots with moral stature, brought forth the birth of hope in our country. We need a dialogue among all South Africans – ‘united in our diversity’ – on how we might continue investing in our citizenship a dedication to raising our voices and taking action where we can in order to take on the challenges facing our country.
Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela
Cape Town, May 2014
REMEMBRANCE AND RECONCILIATION
‘The heart of forgiveness does not necessarily lie in loving those around us (it definitely does not lie in hating them either). The spirit of forgiveness lies in the search – not for the things that separate us – but for something common among us as fellow human beings, the compassion and empathy that binds our human identity.’
1. Facing the truth in South Africa
The Washington Post, 1 November 1998
Serving on South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a coordinator of the public hearings in the Western Cape gave me an opportunity to witness its limitations and achievements at first hand. When, in late 1998, the commission released its final report, I felt the public reactions confirmed that the task of dealing with our past had still not been concluded.
THE LONG-AWAITED final report of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), which was released last week, will lay nothing to rest. It appears at a time when the South African public has tired of the commission, and become sceptical about its benefits. White people are increasingly negative about everything – the economy, crime, affirmative action, and a government run by a cabinet that is mainly black.
These negative attitudes are a screen against confronting the reality of their contribution to apartheid, a system that oppressed the majority of South Africans for the enrichment of a few, and their status as beneficiaries of its privileges. Perpetrators continue to struggle with the effects of public shaming and of being exposed as the doers of evil deeds.
Some victims are also unhappy. They have not seen any benefit from having come forward to the commission to share their stories of anguish. Their hopes were wearing thin until the first reparation payments were made recently to a few victims, a process seen as too little, too late.
The TRC has forced white people to reckon with their role as bystanders and beneficiaries of apartheid privilege. Many of them have refused to face this truth, which threatens their sense of humanity. Instead, they have been excessively critical of the post-apartheid government and its efforts towards transformation, which they regard as a threat to the privileges they were used to under apartheid.