Winnie at 80
IF COURAGE could take the form of a person, it would choose Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. Today, comrade Winnie will be welcomed into the club of struggle octogenarians, even though her youthful beauty may indicate otherwise. And, while getting old in itself requires a great deal of courage, it is courage and loyalty that have really distinguished Winnie as the outstanding character that she is, throughout her life.
I can hardly remember first meeting the young social worker who so seamlessly became part of both the struggle and Nelson Mandela’s life. Destiny had chosen her to fulfil a role that would have a lasting impact on South African history, and it had chosen well.
The young Winnie stood out for a number of reasons. Born in the Transkei, her childhood was characterised by the difficulties faced by many black South African children living in rural areas.
In an interview with author Diana Russell, Winnie states that she first wore shoes in the eighth grade.
She was, however, an outstanding student, and having completed her studies, is said to have been noted early on for her leadership qualities.
Apartheid was designed to limit black excellence. But the example of Winnie, like many of her contemporaries, would discredit the system.
Winnie was to become the first qualified black social worker at Baragwanath Hospital where she started her career in the 1950s.
While she is too often noted only in terms of her connection to Madiba, she was already politically conscious as a school pupil. Winnie states that she first came to know about Mandela in her matric year.
Her interest in South Africa’s socio-political landscape later arose from her experiences at the hospital – working with patients who bore the greatest burden of apartheid’s inequality. It was later, through increased political contact – particularly at the Treason Trial after meeting Madiba – that this interest deepened.
Winnie’s relationship with one of South Africa’s foremost “agitators” of the time would itself be a “sentence” of sorts. The long years that they would have to spend apart, the banning orders, arrests and constant police harassment, while expected, were brutal.
Winnie was three months pregnant when she faced her first stint in prison in the 1958 anti-pass campaign, where she credits Albertina Sisulu – a nurse and fellow activist – for having saved her unborn child.
In later years, Winnie would endure 491 days in solitary confinement. She says: “I have spent most of my life in and out of prison. At first I was bewildered, like every woman who has to leave her little children clinging to her skirt pleading with her not to leave them.
“I cannot to this day describe that constricting pain in my throat as I turned my back on my little ghetto home, leaving the sounds of those screaming children as I was taken off to prison.
“As the years went on, that pain was transformed into a bitterness that I cannot put into words.”
But it was perhaps the cruel banishment to Brandfort that most tested Winnie’s courage. She recalled that her banishment – which was a rare punishment in South Africa at the time – was meant to “dehumanise” her. But Winnie would not be broken. Always the community activist, she opened a clinic and a crèche, and initiated feeding schemes for Brandfort’s children. In a video interview during those dark years, Winnie very assuredly remarks that she is “absolutely certain” of freedom. Though herself a prisoner in, and out, of an actual prison, Winnie had become the public face of Mandela, whom the world had not seen since his own imprisonment.
A few years ago, I had the opportunity of meeting Fadwa Barghouthi, a lawyer and wife of the jailed “Palestinian Mandela”, Marwan Barghouthi. I was struck with the similarities between the two women.
Both have tirelessly campaigned for the freedom of their husbands, and in essence, for the freedom of their countries. Both have had their families in some way or the other torn apart. And both exude a strength that is uncommonly found.
Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, who also met Fadwa at the launch of the global campaign for her husband’s release, remarked: “I would particularly like to welcome Mrs Fadwa Barghouthi’s presence in the campaign. It reminds us of the brave role Winnie Mandela played in keeping the memory of Mr Mandela and the struggle alive.”
It was this Winnie Mandela who throughout the very turbulent years of the 1970s and ’80s was at the forefront of the struggle at the height of political activity, while the Rivonia accused were still languishing in prison.
There were two particularly important occasions in the life of Mandela that I could not be present at, because I was either under a banning order or had another commitment. The first was Madiba and Winnie’s wedding. The second was his release from prison, when the iconic photograph of Mandela and Winnie, was taken. The moment was symbolic of the broader freedom, strength and unity of the nation.
Mandela is quoted to have said: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”
If anything, Winnie is certainly among the “conquerors” – those who fought fear and oppression, and emerged triumphant.
South Africans today, I am sure, are acquainted with the older Winnie Mandela: the MP, the popular leader welcomed with a roar of approval from the crowds at rallies, the politician repeatedly elected to the ruling party’s national executive committee, the glamorous public figure who, without asking for it, always captures the limelight, and the figure who has courted controversy and is not immune to fault or criticism.
When I think of Winnie, I recall two of my most recent public engagements with her. She visited Lenasia, my former place of residence, to mark a historic event.
The Gauteng Tamil Federation was unveiling a bust of anti-colonial child martyr Valliamma Munuswami. I also had the opportunity of sitting with Winnie and Ruth Mompati at an event marking the repatriation of the remains of Moses Kotane and JB Marks last year.
At both occasions, I could but only marvel at the activist who continues keeping a pulse on both the grassroots and bigger politics of the country. It was this leader who last year visited Soweto at the height of the xenophobic tension to contribute to the call for calm.
Winnie’s first name is Nomzamo, which, loosely translated, means “one who strives”.
It’s a very apt name for a woman who will be remembered for spending the best years of her life courageously striving for South Africa’s freedom.
For me, though, she is still that person who looked out from the photograph that so proudly stood on Mandela’s bookcase all those years ago on Robben Island.