/ 13 December 2013

Killing us with their (rowdy) song

Killing Us With Their (rowdy) Song

It was the woman in African traditional regalia, complete with a Zulu headdress and speaking with a distinctive coloured accent, who did it for me.

It was Tuesday morning and I was watching the news on television. People were streaming into Soccer City (the FNB Stadium) for Nelson Mandela's memorial service. "Aren't you worried about the rain?" the reporter from Sky News goaded her, half knowing what her answer would be. "Nothing will dampen my spirits. Mandela has done so much for us," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "Rain is a blessing," her companion chimed in.

It seemed as though the rest of South Africa was descending on Soccer City. A well-spoken man from Chatsworth in Durban said he was hungry and was looking for something to eat. "I had to be here," he said. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Mandela visited Chatsworth more than a decade ago after learning of a tragedy at a discotheque that claimed the lives of young people. But he didn't just sympathise. He raised funds for the community. Now, Chatsworth has a multimillion-rand, multipurpose community centre. People relate how Mandela touched them personally.

How could I sit and watch the events on television, almost a stone's throw from the venue, when these people had travelled through the night to be at the stadium? My mind was made up. I called a friend. "But it's raining," she protested. "But this is Mandela," I said. "There won't be anybody like him. There won't be an occasion like this, ever." She relented.

Unremitting
And so we set off for the stadium. On the way, the news wasn't encouraging. The rain was unremitting, making visibility difficult. People were calling radio stations, complaining about being stuck in trains for hours. There was a power failure, Johannesburg's bugbear. Thankfully, the trip proved uneventful. The buses ran regularly and we were soon at the stadium. People selling flags and ANC merchandise were doing brisk business.

Earlier, Public Enterprises Minister Malusi Gigaba had been quoted as saying: "The ANC isn't so unethical as to seek to capitalise opportunistically on Madiba's death."

This overly padded sentence hid a lie. From the start, the ANC has used his death to increase the visibility of its election campaign. Its branded wares – T-shirts, tracksuits, caps and dresses – were sold especially in Vilakazi Street in Soweto. And of course, there's no mistaking the party loyalty of the exuberant singers at the venues and the message in their songs.

The party's election truck, emblazoned with a beaming Jacob Zuma, could be seen at both Mandela's Soweto and Houghton homes. On Sunday, it turned up in Vilakazi Street, loaded with gigantic speakers. The music was loud, the dancing boisterous. It was a party. A few "mourners" were seen drowning their sorrows in a potation of sorts.

One wonders, for instance, what the reaction would have been had members of other political parties turned up at the Mandela venues to sell their wares. It's easy to assume that they would not have been welcomed with open arms.

But one can sympathise with the ANC. Mandela was its much-loved high-profile member – larger than life, a godsend. It's more than tempting to get him to make his final contribution to its election campaign, especially when, in Zuma, it has its weakest leader ever. But exploiting his death for narrow party-political purposes didn't feel right.

Attendance at the stadium was quite good, impressive even, given the weather. The upper levels were packed. TV cameras rather unkindly panned the rows of empty seats. But many people were standing in between the levels, sheltering from the rain. Many private suites were sadly empty, a common sight during football games. We found empty seats on the upper level among Umkhonto weSizwe war veterans.

Bedrock
On Sunday, some war veterans had marched impressively up and down Vilakazi Street, singing at the top of their voices. Women ululated and children ran excitedly alongside. It must have brought back fond memories of yesteryear, when the people's army was the bedrock of the war against apartheid, not the forgotten relic that it has become.

MK soldiers remain some of the most disaffected members of our community. They are resentful. They feel their contribution to the struggle has not been sufficiently acknowledged or appreciated.

Up the road at Nambitha's, we had found half the tables reserved. Moments later, the soldiers noisily walked in, turning the restaurant into something of an army barracks. Some were later seen arguing among themselves. Apparently, there weren't enough tables at the inn for the people's warriors.

But at the stadium on Tuesday, the war veterans suddenly found something useful to do: boo their leaders, especially Zuma, their putative commander-in-chief.

Cheers rang out when Thabo Mbeki walked into the stadium. Zuma was greeted with boos. The wounds of Polokwane, it seems, have yet to heal. They're festering. There was also a feeling among the crowd that Mbeki, as Mandela's deputy and, later, his successor, should have been included in the programme. Zuma was blamed for the omission.

Later, when Barack Obama was shown on the screen, the crowd cheered lustily. And when he waved in acknowledgement, it almost went berserk. The cameras immediately moved to Zuma. The boos were deafening. The contrast was telling.

Zuma must have hoped that an occasion such as Mandela's death would enhance his public image, especially with the elections ahead of us. Instead, it did the opposite. And to be fair, he hasn't put a foot wrong.

Bagful of scandals
From the moment of Mandela's passing, he has appeared solemn and presidential. Even his eulogy on Tuesday, delivered to an almost empty stadium, struck just about the right tone. But, obviously, the chickens are coming home to roost. He has let his dogs loose on his political foes, including Mbeki, in the past. Now they've turned on him. And his bagful of scandals precedes him wherever he goes.

Although the booing has caught much of the public attention, it is in fact the deliberate singing by sections of the crowd during speeches that stuck in the craw.

United Nations general secretary Ban Ki-moon was on the podium when a few Economic Freedom Fighters supporters occupying a corner of the top level suddenly started singing. ANC supporters shouted at them to "sit down" (township lingo for "shut up"). Then, as if to show who's boss, ANC supporters started singing. From then on, it was downhill. One had to feel sorry for Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma. Her entire speech was drowned in song. Being a Zuma probably didn't help.

The cacophony was an utter shame, an embarrassment and disrespectful to the foreign leaders who had travelled long distances to come and pay their respects.

The choice of venue, though understandable, may have been wrong. It's a football venue, and football supporters don't sit down and keep quiet. They blow their vuvuzelas and holler at the top of their voices. Also, the programme could have been a bit more imaginative. Long, boring speeches, however well meaning, were a turn-off for such a crowd. They could have been interspersed with music, drama, poetry – anything to engage the crowd.

Although it was supposed to be a state occasion, it had the feel of an ANC rally. Both Cyril Ramaphosa and Baleka Mbete, who presided over proceedings, are party functionaries. So the entirety of world leadership seemed to have been present at an ANC rally, with its divisions and bitterness in full view. With Mbete's offkey rendition of struggle songs, it felt as though we were back in Mangaung.

But, more importantly, there was a hollowness to the occasion. The stadium was full, but it felt empty.

Mandela, the man who had brought all these people together from all corners of the globe, wasn't there. It was a wedding without the bridal couple. The casket should have been brought to the stadium. Even a limited public viewing would have been in order. It would have introduced an appropriately sombre mood, which probably would have averted the chaos.

Even in death, it seems, Rolihlahla is still capable of causing some trouble.