Did the damp masses who attended last weekend’s South Africa Freedom Day Concert go to celebrate African democracy or were they just there for the stars?
Adam Welz
The South Africa Freedom Day Concert on the Square was the first major concert ever to be held in Trafalgar Square. The organisers made full use of the spectacular setting, the large stage incorporating the famous bronze lions at the foot of Nelson’s Column.
In a massive operation, traffic around the square was cut off. It was widely promoted as a free family event, but it was less-publicised that one needed a ticket to enter the show. Only 21?000 of these were “randomly allocated” to callers on a special line, with a limit of four per caller, to prevent congestion in the venue. This, however, did not stop London’s famous scalpers from offering tickets for up to 80 each on the day to some confused would-be attendees, many who were unaware that they needed anything to get past the long lines of police and (exceptionally) rude private security guards ringing the area. The variety of acts was only matched by the diversity of the people watching. Big-name international acts shared the stage with a few unknowns, has-beens and a kwaito queen, and were watched by everyone from grannies out with the family to mobs of Eurotrash (think “who is Nelson Mandela?” in Spanish) waiting for the chance to see REM for nothing.
There were plenty of South African flags in evidence, the odd toyi-toyi and a smattering of Shosholozas when things slowed down, but it was hard to guess what percentage of the crowd were South African maybe 20%? Most of the Sarfies, it seems, were also there for REM, who were the biggest drawcard for the event. The first big name up on stage were Irish family outfit The Corrs. Lead singer Andrea Corr is pure calculated sex appeal and stared systematically down the lens of each photographer in the pit below the stage. Undeniably slick, they churned out a few of their big pop hits to adoring fans. They were followed by, among others, a disappointingly unpolished, largely lip-synching Lebo Mathosa, whose kwaito vibes are better suited to dark clubs in Jo’burg than the damp grey London outdoors, ex-Spice Girl Mel B who lip-synched her way into Monday’s tabloids by bouncing out of her low-cut top, and the inane Atomic Kitten, who should have lip-synched but didn’t.
The Manhattan Brothers, surfacing from relative obscurity, put on a great show, but were largely lost on the young crowd who didn’t understand who they were and what they represented.
After a small problem with the platform that had been built for the audience (a metre-square hole appeared and someone fell into the fountain below) the police stopped the show for more than an hour. “For your safety” justifies any autocratic act by the authorities in the United Kingdom and the concert producers fumed back and forth in their walkie-talkies about the coppers ruining the show. The punters, however, waited patiently in the drizzle until Cheryl Carolus, South African High Commissioner and instigator of the Celebrate South Africa Festival (which is on until May 31), nervously introduced British Prime Minister Tony Blair (whose name elicited loud boos from the crowd) and Mandela. A giant roar of approval greeted Mandela as he made his traditional smiling appearance, walking slowly and supported by Blair. He seemed tired and spoke without his normal focus and humour, rambling on at one point about percentages that the African National Congress had gained in the elections since 1994.
He thanked the British people for their support in the fight against apartheid and assured them the ANC was still strong. The crowd remained silent and deeply respectful throughout. At the end of his speech, Carolus quietly prompted him to “wave, Madiba”, and as he did, the cheering rose up louder than before, and the show continued. Due to the delays, Hugh Masekela’s set had been shortened and he played without his usual warmth, leaving the stage without waiting for applause. Ladysmith Black Mambazo, now famous in the UK after appearing in a Heinz baked beans commercial, were stunningly professional and wowed the crowd into silence. Real stories, beautifully told, got through despite the language barrier. REM was the final big name of the evening and clearly who most of the damp masses had been waiting for. Their five-song set had the crowd jumping and singing and had lead singer Michael Stipe, a complex and fascinating performer, proving that the funny-looking guy in the back of the class can be a rock star. Sally Atkins, Trafalgar Square coordinator at the South African High Commission, explained that all artists on the bill had appeared for free and had paid their own travel expenses to the gig. The South Africa acts’ air fares had been paid for by their record companies. She refused to say how much the entire event had cost, but said the cash had come from corporate sponsors. One UK promoter called it “a 2-million” concert.
With the exception of Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the South African acts came across poorly. For an important and hugely reported-on event, one couldn’t help thinking that the high commission could have done more to have secured internationally known South African artists with big concert experience, instead of relying on The Corrs and REM to pull audiences.
Where were the likes of Lucky Dube and Johnny Clegg? Where were younger groups such as the Springbok Nude Girls and Bongo Maffin, who could have pulled off a big show and made an impression on a foreign audience? Post-apartheid South Africa is largely defined by Mandela and the ANC in the minds of the UK public and the Freedom Day Concert did nothing to expand that definition.
Endless footage of Mandela and idyllic rural scenes of cute kids dressed in traditional outfits played on the giant screens around the stage, but I didn’t see a single image of President Thabo Mbeki or an urban landscape containing normal South Africans.
The election of 1994 was portrayed by Mandela and others as a victory for the ANC rather than a victory for democracy. Few South Africans in the audience, representatives of the almost 500?000 in the UK, could have been impressed.
The night ended with a group of young South Africans singing the five-language, one-size-fits-all version of the national anthem. One girl struggled with the Zulu bit. Oh no, I thought, not another whitey who still can’t sing the anthem! It was only when she, along with some of the choir, went silent and confused in the Afrikaans section that I realised she was part of the real new South Africa. One hopes that the rest of the Celebrate South Africa Festival introduces her South Africa to the British people. We need to move on from trite rehashings of the Mandela/1994 myth and show a more complex, richer face to the world.