We will do more to remember her role in the struggle

I WANT to remember the sound of her strength forever. I cannot think of any occasion on which my body didn’t shiver when she would lift that fist up high and declare one of the most powerful words uttered on this continent: Amandla!

Only Zanyiwe Madikizela could say it that way. Power! Maatla! An entire revolution in one word.

Perhaps that’s what she is to us. A whole lifelong revolution in one woman. Standing firm to fight against an unjust beast.

Even as we celebrated what many would want us to believe was a magical transition, she was never fooled by rainbow illusions.

We knew who she was and what she symbolised. Yet we allowed our narrative of her to be dictated by those who despised her.

Generations are only now expressing shock at the revelations of the many atrocities Mama endured at the hands of the evil apartheid regime.

Now is not the time to fault those who were misinformed.

We are many. If anything, we are now more so than ever duty-bound to tell this story right.

None of us knows enough because we’ve been relying on the oppressors’ voices to give us adjectives to describe who Nomzamo Winnie Madikizelamandela is to us.

She was always there, fighting, leading, refusing to surrender.

Having survived so much, we thought she’d always be here. We assumed we still had time to ask her more details even after reading her book so we could understand the pain she concealed with her beautiful smile.

I’m rambling a little, Mama. It’s the guilt and shame of realising we didn’t do what we should have done for you. The songs, poems, plays, films, portraits.

We didn’t do enough; we didn’t recognise that we were supposed to.

I saw joy all over your face as I watched footage of that night at the State Theatre when Dr Bongani Ndodanabreen’s remarkable opera had its world premiere and they called you on to the stage. You seemed genuinely pleased at Tsakane Maswanganyi’s portrayal of you.

I thought of both Tsakane and Bongani the moment the sad news of your passing broke. Their work was a beautiful tribute to you, done by your children who understood your spirit and your voice.

What makes this piece of art more valuable is that you were able to experience it and give it your stamp of approval.

Over the years, I have become annoyingly repetitive, parrot like even, regarding the need for African stories to be told by African artists in their own voices.

We picked a fight bigger than us in Mama Winnie’s name years ago when we heard that Jennifer Hudson was picked to play the lead role in Darryl Roodt’s Winnie, based on Anne Marie due Preez Bezrob’s unauthorised biography.

A project that never got your blessing either. It’s a fight that we knew we would not win. We were fighting to be recognised as good enough to portray our own heroes.

At the time I recall the late Vuyo Mbuli asking me, during a Morning Live interview, why we didn’t make our own films about our heroes to whom we feel so entitled.

This question made me fume a little. How were we ever going to have the funds needed to do such? No one was going to fund black women filmmakers to tell the stories of their women leaders.

Not even double Bafta winners like Xoliswa Sithole. So with this knowledge, I carried on with my slightly misguided fight. Why couldn’t we just be given a chance to prove that we have talent here at home? We could be Winnie too. Better than the Jennifers and the Sophies.

After all, we knew the sound of her strength. We understood that “Amandla!”.

We were making the mistake of resigning ourselves to the fact that any big artistic treatment of our nation’s heroes would always be funded, owned and directed by rich outsiders.

It would be up to us to beg for inclusion in our own narratives. It’s pretty much what we have been doing all this time.

Not seeing the immense value of our own stories, be they in literary form, film, song or play.

We do not own the canvas on which our heroes are painted and we keep getting surprised when the portraits come out wrong. There is so much we could have done for Mama Winnie.

We could have made a living tribute to her through our art while she could still acknowledge and appreciate it, like Thandiswa Mazwai did through her music. Simphiwe Dana too.

We are blessed to have these artists producing art that speaks, art that builds monuments for living heroes.

These things matter because if we continue on the trajectory of misfortune where we rely on foreign hands to paint the portraits of our heroes, we are soon going to be left with no identity as a people.

I find myself pressed to question what it was that made us shy away from Winnie as a subject of our art. I noticed how broadcasters seemed to scramble for material on her in this time of national mourning.

Where is the dedicated channel of material that pays tribute to Mangutyana? Where is the material?

Is it more than a handful? Where are the songs. How many poems do we have? Where are the paintings and sculptures? The animated series for children. Illustrated books too?

Why had it been convenient to shy away from this icon?

I’m yet to hear the late Cape songstress Samitha Bea Benjamin’s beautiful Winnie Mandela Beloved Heroine on the airwaves.

Is it not known or is it hard to find? Nothing should be hard in paying tribute to the mother of the nation.

I want to watch a televised special of the Winnie Opera. Surely Mfundi Vundla can make this happen, if approached. He produced the masterpiece.

I am tired of watching this giant of a leader being reduced to a spousal role. I want to watch Pascale Lamche’s documentary on our public channels. It’s important to screen this now.

Were we caught unprepared? Did we not have a plan on what to do when Mama departs? Did we plan to downplay her stature by having nothing to show.

Our over-reliance on Western validation and approval for how and when we should tell our stories has come back to bite us in the whatyoucall and it stings.

Mama, forgive us for being foolish and forgetting our duty. Your story shall be written right. The young women you raised and inspired will paint you right.

Look at what Mmabatho Montsho’s brush did for you. We will do more. We must. We shall not leave your story in the hands of men. They’ve already called you by every undesirable name to erase your legacy. We will defend your honour through our art.

The women, young and old, will write you songs.

The books we write will not feature you as a mere chapter in the main event that was your life. The films we make too, for we are not threatened by you. We are inspired.

The world view of who you were will be shaped by us. The women of Mbizana will tell your stories for generations to come.

The children of Soweto and the continent will know you. The women in the arts will keep your name alive. Our young women in art schools will make tapestries out of your name.

The Zanyiwe Madikizela heritage project must start now and it can only be led by your daughters. After all, if we leave it up to the men, you will continue to be known only as Nelson Mandela’s beautiful wife. We are going to change that narrative.

Your power will be palpable in every film we make about you. All of your strength and beauty will shine through. We are ready to multiply your voice into a thousand Amandlas a minute.

Count us all and count us in – actors, writers, dancers, choreographers, directors, singers, painters and sculptors, we are here to rectify the erasure.

The women who led us in the fight for liberation are not nameless faces in the crowd. They are not supporting acts. The women in the arts are no mere assistants and make-up artists and stylists.

We lead for we were taught by Nomzamo. We can no longer afford to wait for one more film with the wrong voice. We are your voice.

Leave your pain with us; we will tell your story. My fight now is no longer just for a South African actor to play you in a film. What I want to see is adequate funding and support going to women in the arts so they can tell the story of the women. And for those stories to be given a prime platform and not be hidden.

Siyabulela, Mama. Rest. We will keep the sound of your strength alive forever. Lala Ngoxolo Mangutyana! Msuthu! Msengeshe! Amandla!