Sunday Times E-Edition

What the statues of our ancestors can teach us

By DALI TAMBO

Come with me, if you will, to an ethereal dimension in which the 100 venerated ancestors depicted in Cape Town’s Long March to Freedom exhibition are the subject of your dreams and seem to wake you from your slumber as a delegation of immortal souls.

Perhaps you are a branch member, restless with thoughts of branch general meetings, or a provincial leader ill at ease about factional politics, an NEC member restive about the approaching 55th national conference or an ANC veteran anxious about its defining outcomes. Perchance you are just a citizen perturbed about your family’s increasing poverty. You can’t sleep. It is 2am. You go out to your garden. There is a chill in the foggy morning air and out of the mist a pantheon of revered ancestors silently approaches you. You freeze, at first scared stiff of these ghosts. You think of turning and running from this uncommon sight, but your body is paralysed, unable to flee. Your dog is barking, for though unable to see what you see, he senses their presence.

As they approach and encircle you, your fear turns to awe as you start to recognise male and female progenitors and forebears. While led by Nelson and Winnie, Oliver and Adelaide, Walter and Albertina, it becomes clear as the circle is closed that as recent arrivals in the paradisal sphere they are the juniors and there are yet more wondrous sights to behold. Last to arrive are the primogenitors, some more than 350 years old and therefore the most senior. Unconsciously you find your body bowing in deferential respect and homage. Your dog’s bark has become a submissive whimper.

Chiefs and kings step forward, including Dalasile, David and Klaas Stuurman, Makhado, Kgamanyane Pilane, Langalibalele, Adam Kok III, Maqoma on horseback, Bambatha and others. Though their expressions are warm, they look battle-hardened and fierce. You are petrified. They stand alongside the magnificence of a large contingent of celebrated warrior kings. Their splendour intimidates you and you feel your posture lower into an involuntary descending twist. Your dog is now silent and submissive on its back.

In the dark early dawn your eyes widen as you discern the presence of majesty: “Oh my word, that’s Hintsa and Sandile; both are on horseback. There is Nyabela, Sekhukhune, Faku, Dingane, heavens above, that’s Moshoeshoe, Cetshwayo, Dinizulu and Mzilikazi!”

You are told by kings Dinizulu and Shaka that all, upon arrival in paradise, must attend a gathering where they recount their lives to a massive consanguineous audience and beguile them with tales of yore which are humorous, honest and personal, but principally of a political struggle orientation.

Autshumato and Olive Schreiner speak of the general concern among the celestial ancestry when they listened to reports from “newbies”, recent arrivals such as Desmond Tutu, Andrew Mlangeni, Ahmed Kathrada, Winnie Mandela and Denis Goldberg. As a result, it was decided a delegation that spans the ages should come, get the facts and report back to the House of South African Lords and Ladies of Antiquity.

Though they number only 100, they seem to be so many. Your heart is beating rapidly and, though a chill still kisses the dewy air, you break into a sweat.

King Makhado Ramabulana and Chief Maleboho ask you gently but firmly: “What of our stolen lands we fought so hardily and died so willingly in such inestimable numbers to retain? Are you now returning the land to our dispossessed and impoverished people?” At first confounded, you commence to give as good and honest an account as you can. Sol Plaatje and Chris Hani eye you intensely as you respond.

You are shaking and want to sit, but they are all standing, so you too remain standing, now at attention.

John Dube, the ANC’s first president, and Josiah Gumede inquire: “Tell us, what is the status of our glorious movement? Is it strong? Is it united? Is our nation now a more egalitarian, nonracial, and harmonious society? Has the gap between rich and poor narrowed under your noble leadership?”

Pixley Seme entreats: “In your opinion, are the best days of our vanguard movement ahead of us or behind us?”

Your answers are getting shorter, but more forthright.

You get no inkling from their poker faces, no impression of how your answers are being received.

They have assembled only to listen and report back; they may not impart any advice or guidance, except through their lived examples.

A group including AB Xuma, Bram Fischer, Griffiths and Victoria Mxenge, ZK Mathews, Joe Slovo and Ruth First want to know if the values, ideals and principles of the ANC are being upheld. Is the ANC still the moral and ethical lodestar of our nation? Do we live through you? Does the ANC still lead?

Chief Albert Luthuli, Duma Nokwe, Helen Joseph, Josie Palmer, Yusuf Dadoo and Trevor Huddleston inquire: “Our illustrious Freedom Charter — is the splendour of its verses and the distinction and eminence of its profound aspiration being implemented? Has our charter become the unifying ‘rising tide that lifts all boats’? Is our nation now united across races, cultures and creeds? Do we stand tall among the free peoples and nations of the world?”

Anton Lembede and Solomon Mahlangu step forward: “How do our leagues and branches, the arteries, capillaries and veins of our democratic movements body politic fare?”

Before you can reply, as though in pre-rehearsed sync, women in the delegation step forward. They are led by Queen Labotsibeni, Bertha Mkhize, Dorothy Nyembe and, behind them, Annie Silinga, Cissie Gool, Ray Alexander, Ruth Mompati, Harriette Colenso, Lilian Ngoyi and Charlotte Maxeke. You think to yourself, heaven must have an ancestral “women’s league” second to none!

They ask you: “Are our women, the mothers and daughters of our nation who have held the knife at its sharpest edge, liberated? Are the flowers of our nation at last enjoying the fruits of economic freedom, gender equality and leadership? Do they blossom, prosper and grow?”

Lembede and Mahlangu now earnestly request: “What can you tell us of our youth league, the fibrous muscle and tissue of our generational struggle, our agents of change? How do our young lions fare? Do they still roar?”

The light is changing, sunrise is approaching, you have had to think on your feet and you’re exhausted. Your dog is now walking among the delegation, its tail wagging.

As the immortals conclude their last question and turn to fade back into the lifting mist, you are left wondering, did that just happen? Was it a dream or a nightmare?

They chat among themselves as they walk away. You cannot hear or see the expressions they wear, nor the impression you left as they return to their Elysian Fields to give their reports. As they disappear into the distance, you hear them break into freedom songs. You start to shed a waterfall of tears as you join in. Now alone and misty eyed, you are overwhelmed with emotion.

As you turn to re-enter your home, you ask yourself with no rhetorical intent: Did my answers make them feel their sacrifices were worth it or not so much?

Have my sincere and candid answers made them smile and rejoice, or should I, as the sun rises, take a moment to pick up the shards of their broken hearts?

‘Tell us, what is the status of our glorious movement? Is it strong? Is it united? Is our nation now a more egalitarian, nonracial, and harmonious society?’

Insight

en-za

2022-12-04T08:00:00.0000000Z

2022-12-04T08:00:00.0000000Z

https://times-e-editions.pressreader.com/article/281925957040431

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