RE/SISTERS: SOUTH AFRICAN WOMEN'S LITERATURE
DENISE HANDLARSKI
A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
GRADUATE PROGRAM IN ENGLISH YORK UNIVERSITY, TORONTO, ONTARIO
SEPTEMBER 2011 Library and Archives Bibliotheque et Canada Archives Canada
Published Heritage Direction du Branch Patrimoine de I'edition
395 Wellington Street 395, rue Wellington Ottawa ON K1A0N4 Ottawa ON K1A 0N4 Canada Canada Your file Votre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-88675-5
Our file Notre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-88675-5
NOTICE: AVIS: The author has granted a non L'auteur a accorde une licence non exclusive exclusive license allowing Library and permettant a la Bibliotheque et Archives Archives Canada to reproduce, Canada de reproduire, publier, archiver, publish, archive, preserve, conserve, sauvegarder, conserver, transmettre au public communicate to the public by par telecommunication ou par I'lnternet, preter, telecommunication or on the Internet, distribuer et vendre des theses partout dans le loan, distrbute and sell theses monde, a des fins commerciales ou autres, sur worldwide, for commercial or non support microforme, papier, electronique et/ou commercial purposes, in microform, autres formats. paper, electronic and/or any other formats.
The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur ownership and moral rights in this et des droits moraux qui protege cette these. Ni thesis. Neither the thesis nor la these ni des extraits substantiels de celle-ci substantial extracts from it may be ne doivent etre imprimes ou autrement printed or otherwise reproduced reproduits sans son autorisation. without the author's permission.
In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne sur la Privacy Act some supporting forms protection de la vie privee, quelques may have been removed from this formulaires secondaires ont ete enleves de thesis. cette these.
While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires aient inclus dans in the document page count, their la pagination, il n'y aura aucun contenu removal does not represent any loss manquant. of content from the thesis. Canada iv Abstract
This dissertation focuses on female, black, South African authors. In analyzing their works, I formulate a redefinition of "resistance literature" as well as provide practical criticism on a body of work that is underrepresented in literary study. This particular community of writers has experienced the double marginalization of sexism and racism in a political landscape that has changed dramatically over the period of their writing.
My argument is that black women writers from South Africa reflect and enact resistance against systemic sexism and racism by means of representing the experiences of their ordinary lives, and that they use those representations to forge collectivities with others. There has been intense debate about whether literature that is overtly political can continue to be relevant after political change. After the end of apartheid, what might it mean to resist? This project engages with postcolonial, gender, and resistance theory to produce speculations on the possibilities for defining resistance literature and postulating how it works, what its effects may be, and why it matters.
This project argues that the category of "resistance literature," repeatedly invoked by critics of apartheid-era literature (Harlow 1987; DeShazer 1994; Gready 2003), has never been adequately theorized and defined. While apartheid provided a clear "struggle" to be reflected and promoted in literature, the post-apartheid sphere offers a changing view of how literature resists. Current issues are highly gendered, and emerging resistance writers are women who challenge the on-going sexism of South African society as it intersects with issues of race, class, and sexuality. Each chapter concludes that solidarity, both across races within South Africa and between South African women and transnational feminist movements, enables current race and gender-based resistance movements. Thus women must become "re/sisters" in order to become "resisters." V Acknowledgements
This project came together thanks to the assistance and support of a great number of people. I feel extremely privileged to have been able to work under the supervision of Terry Goldie. Terry is an amazing thinker and scholar and has been abundantly generous with his time, ideas, and criticism. Terry's dedication to his students is most inspiring and appreciated. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to Marcia Blumberg whose keen sense of the culture and politics of South Africa gave me a foundation as to the questions of the field, and to Deanne Williams whose theoretical knowledge also informed this project. It has been a privilege to be part of a conversation of ideas with these accomplished scholars.
Kathy Armstrong and Emma Posca, the frontline staff of the Graduate Programme in English, helped me to navigate all things bureaucratic and provided laughs and encouragement through it all. I would also like to thank Ross Arthur, Tom Loebel, Marie- Christine Leps and Modupe Olaogun for the part they played in various capacities and at various stages during my years at York.
The research for this dissertation was made possible by funds from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Counctil (SSHRC), the Ontario Graduate Scholarship (OGS), and research and fieldwork cost funds from CUPE 3903 and the Faculty of Graduate Studies at York. Together, these funds allowed me to do archival research and authorial interviews in South Africa.
Thanks to Sindiwe Magona and Kagiso Lesego Molope for our wonderful discussions about South African literature and life.
My parents, Frances and Josh Handlarski, have always been a huge source of support and love for which I will always be grateful. They instilled in me a love for learning and books which inspired my graduate work and my research here. Thanks should also go out to my siblings Ryan and John who have always made me laugh and whose special qualities enrich my life.
Charles Gardner lived out this project with me and gave me the strength and support to see it to fruition. His humour and ideas have enlivened and enlightened my days and my work. I cannot imagine what writing would have been like without his constant companionship, guidance, patience, and love. vi Table of Contents
Abstract iv
Introduction 1
Resistance Theory 1
Resistance Literature 6
Resistance Literature 11
Historical Context 15
The 'Post' in Post-Apartheid 21
Feminism, Womanism, Sisterhood 23
The Personal is Political 29
Insider/Outsider 32
Five Ways that Literature Resists 35
Chapter Breakdown 40
Chapter One - Voice and Resistance : Gcina Mhlophe 48
Theatre as Resistance 50
Storytelling and Orality 68
The Bones of Memory: Poetry and the TRC 80
Music 95
Voices of Re/sisters 106
Chapter Two - Motherhood and Resistance: Sindiwe Magona 121
The Sharp End of the Knife: Mothers as Re/sisters 121
Sister-Mother 127 vii Pregnancy: Dislocation and Hope 134
Reconciliation as Regeneration 141
Reconciliation and the Nation 153
Regenerating the Literary Mother 161
Regenerating Re/sistering 173
Chapter Three - Girlhood and Resistance: Kagiso Lesego Molope 181
Imagining Girlhood 187
The Girl Freedom-Fighter 198
Sexuality and Girlhood 218
Passing 236
Girlhood and Re/sistering 250
Chapter Four - Cosmopolitanism and Resistance: Kopano Matlwa 254
Cosmopolitan Hybridity 257
Hybridity and Language: Cosmopolitan Creolization 271
Local/Global Economics and BEE 284
Coconut Cosmopolitanism and Re/sistering 302
Conclusion 313
Works Cited 327 1 Introduction
In her collection of poetry Love Child, Gcina Mhlophe eulogizes her mother, a
"wedding dancer," yet the poem ends with the line "mother, they tell me I am a funeral dancer" (90). To mourn and still to dance - this is a central metaphor for resistance writing in a region that has much to celebrate and much to grieve. This dissertation focuses on female, black, South African authors. In analyzing their works, I formulate a redefinition of "resistance literature" and provide practical criticism on a body of work that is underrepresented in literary study. I have chosen to focus on this particular community of writers because they have experienced the double marginalization of sexism and racism in a political landscape that has changed dramatically over the period of their writing. My argument is that black women writers from South Africa reflect and enact resistance against systemic sexism and racism by representing their ordinary lives and that they use these representations to forge collectivities with others. There has been intense debate about whether overtly political literature can continue to be relevant after political change. After the end of apartheid, what might it mean to resist? This project engages with postcolonial, gender, and resistance theory to speculate on the possibilities for defining resistance literature and to postulate how it works, what its effects may be, and why it matters.
Resistance Theory
Most contemporary resistance theory is inspired by, if not centred on, Michel
Foucault's analyses of power. Whereas Foucault provides a "genealogy" of the human sciences, and specifically how "power-knowledge" and the "will to truth" are produced in 2 and by discourse, this project endeavors to construct a genealogy of resistance. Foucault famously asserts, "where there is power, there is resistance" (HS 95). He notes the relational character of power relationships: "their existence depends on a multiplicity of points of resistance: these play the role of adversary, target, support, or handle in power relations. These points of resistance are present everywhere in the power network" (95).
Thus, Foucault opens the door to a genealogy and analysis of resistance theory, but he does not elucidate the points of resistance that he identifies. Critics who cite these passages of Foucault often do so to recuperate the resistive potential in networks of power. Society Must Be Defended, edited by Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana, summarizes and "situates" Foucault's lectures (273) mainly by addressing issues of resistance. In the lectures themselves, Foucault rarely discusses resistance. In the afterword, the editors suggest that this is the main thrust (273). I do not believe this is a misreading of Foucault; implicit in his genealogy of power is a genealogy of resistance.
The two are mutually constituting. When Bertani and Fontana write that "the massive fact of domination and the binary logic of war cannot understand either all the episodic or sporadic struggles that take place in the field of power, or the multiplicity of local unpredictable, and heterogeneous resistances" (284), they are inscribing the narrative of resistance toward which Foucault gestures but does not clarify. Society Must Be Defended is an important departure for Foucault because he asserts racism as the main focal point for the production of power in modern institutions. Thus he initiates a discussion of how anti-racist actions have complicated the fields of power. 3 Foucault's understanding of power and resistance informs this dissertation. Foucault says, "Are there no great radical ruptures, massive binary divisions, then? Occasionally, yes. But more often one is dealing with mobile and transitory points of resistance [...] fracturing unities and effecting regroupings [...] and it is doubtless the strategic codification of these points of resistance that makes a revolution possible [...]" (HS 96).
Thus, resistance literature resists on a small-scale and through the regroupings that emerge discursively. Literary texts offer one such mode of resistance and regrouping.
The texts analyzed in this project depict women's resistance, in particular. This includes the interpolation of, and violence against, the female body. In The History of
Sexuality, Foucault writes:
It is the agency of sex that we must break away from, if we aim—through a tactical
reversal of the various mechanisms of sexuality—to counter the grips of power with
the claims of bodies, pleasures, and knowledges, in their multiplicity and their
possibility of resistance. The rallying point for the counterattack against the
deployment of sexuality ought not to be sexual desire, but bodies and pleasures. (157)
The idea that the possibility of resistance lies in bodies and pleasures resonates with
Foucault's "Friendship as a Way of Life" in which he posits that the societal discomfort with homosexuality has historically not been about sex, but about the closeness and
"formation of new alliances" (156) that homosexuality enables. While this does not have direct implications for the subject of study here, it supports my claim that, in literature, the deployment of bodies, pleasures, and relationships can be resistive. Adrienne Rich's
"lesbian continuum" makes similar claims about the resistive potential of relationships 4 between women. Thus in forging a politics of "re/sistering" the links between Foucault and Rich demonstrate that power can be disrupted through interpersonal connections.
Foucault's analysis of how resistance happens at the level of bodies and friendships implies that resistance is constructed through the workings of everyday life. Foucault claims that "power comes from below; that is, there is no binary and all-encompassing opposition between rulers and ruled at the root of power relations" (HS 94). Similarly,
Michel de Certeau's Practice of Everyday Life includes resistances that are not overtly political or interested in challenging governments, institutions, and other forms of power on a large-scale. While de Certeau is critical of Foucault for creating his own "panopticon of power," and not submitting his own work to a genealogy that would question some of his basic assumptions (189,195), their theories of power overlap. Both are interested in power and resistance in the everyday. Both discuss strategies and tactics of power as well as the implications of borrowing this type of language from the discourse of war.1
De Certeau forges a distinction between "strategies and tactics" of resistance, suggesting that strategies are oppositional and invested in large-scale power, whereas tactics are multiple and shifting, and involve "the practice of everyday life" (xix).
According to de Certeau, the distinction between strategies and tactics is defined by space:
1 It is useful to note that Deleuze and Guattari discuss the utilization of war terminology by asserting that in contemporary society we are always inside the "war machine." This resonates with Giorgio Agamben who posits that in contemporary society wartime, which used to be an exception, has become the rule. Both of these assertions have implications for Foucault's conception of "biopower". This is taken up in the chapter on Sindiwe Magona and her representations of motherhood. 5 I call a strategy the calculation (or manipulation) of power relationships that
becomes possible as soon as a subject with will and power (a business, an army, a
city, a scientific institution) can be isolated. It postulates a place that can be
delimited as its own and serve as the base from which relations with an exteriority
composed of targets or threats (customs, competitors, enemies, the country
surrounding the city, objectives and objects of research, etc.) can be managed.
(35)
To be strategic is to be rooted in space; to be tactical is to be nomadic. De Certeau posits that "the space of a tactic is the space of the other" (37). Tactics are "isolated actions" that resist "blow by blow" (37). This dissertation thus analyzes the tactics inscribed in writing. These confront power "blow by blow" and are tactical because, according to de
Certeau's definition, the tactic "takes advantage of 'opportunities' and depends on them, being without any base where it could stockpile its winnings [...] it can be where it is least expected. It is a guileful ruse" (37). The tactics employed by writers are by definition without space; they are of consciousness, not of rootedness.2 The definition of tactic as
"guileful ruse" resonates with my view of literature: fiction is by definition a ruse because it can be charming, seductive, and playful in its tactical aims. De Certeau asserts that "'stories provide the decorative container of a narrativity for everyday practices"
(70; author's emphasis), which are the tactics of resistance. Literature is thus part of the
2 In my first chapter I will discuss the literary example of Gcina Mhlophe, whose writing addresses issues of space and rootlessness directly. 6 "practice of everyday life" that for de Certeau is a way to resist the totalizing effects of power.
De Certeau's ideas overlap with Foucault's claim that power is constructed from below. Both of these theorists therefore intersect with postcolonial theory. Different aspects of postcolonial theory address both the importance of the ordinary and of power from below. For example, Robert Young's historical and cultural research illustrates how power comes from below (Postcolonialism 26). In a historical, postcolonial, and discursive framework, power relationships emerge from the popular. This applies to literature in that it is meant for the consumption of a large group, and its power is discursive. The primary texts of this study are exemplary of discursive intervention; they challenge the modes of thinking and writing that reinforce unequal power relationships in
South Africa. Robert Young's idea of power from below is supported by de Certeau's focus on the everyday. In turn, this echoes Njabulo S. Ndebele's interest in the
"rediscovery of the ordinary" (Rediscovery). Ndebele posits that literature which represents everyday life is resistive. He urges South African writers to "rediscover" the ordinary in order to attain or maintain "relevance" {Rediscovery 67). The concomitances between Young and Foucault, Foucault and de Certeau, and de Certeau and Ndebele indicate that analyses of discourse and power are bound up with their explication of how resistance works.
Resistance Literature
This project asks, "What is resistance literature?" Many theorists discuss resistance literature without defining it; they seem to assume that we know what 7 resistance literature is and how it works. Yet, interrogating this assumption proves difficult. The most well-known discussion of resistance literature comes from Barbara
Harlow in her book of that title. She argues that the political content of a variety of works has constructed a canon of postcolonial resistance. Harlow, however, does not provide a definition of the term. In her introduction she claims that "part of [her] task will, of course, be to attempt to define the term 'resistance literature' and its application" (xvii).
However, rather than forging such a definition, she continues, "This definition will be undertaken largely through a reading of the literary material itself, together with the critical essays and studies [...]" (xvii). Harlow, thereby, avoids mapping a definition of resistance literature onto the literature, hoping instead that a definition will arise organically out of the analysis itself. Because different literatures resist differently,
Harlow is able to identify various points of resistance but not to formulate a coherent definition. Harlow's analysis of resistance literature pertains to national independence movements; resistance for her is a cogent political movement with a clearly defined goal.
In accounting for the importance of literature as a site for the production of knowledge and ideology, she acknowledges that "the struggle over the historical record is seen from all sides as no less crucial than the armed struggle" (7). She links the production of knowledge and political significance solely within the context of particular historical movements. Consequently, Harlow's interest in resistance literature is located in its effect on large-scale political movements only. These large-scale resistances are important, but they do not endure as powerfully as the resistances of the everyday, particularly for women whose acts of resistance are as often domestic as they are public. This dissertation 8 examines how literature can resist outside of mass-movements and organized political activity.
Harlow does not explicitly address gender as it co-exists with and reinforces oppression for postcolonial women. In her analysis of women's prison writings, she acknowledges different concerns for women as political writers and organizers, but her linking of women's liberation with national liberation is cursory and does not engage with the contradictions and complexities between the concerns of gender and nation that arise:
[F]or many Third World women, feminism means 'women's liberation', and
women's liberation is seen as part of a popular struggle against the forces of
oppression [...] the active role of women in the national liberation struggles and
resistance movements of the Third World has contributed significantly to an
articulation of political ideology in their countries which transcends the
distinctions of gender, race, and ethnicity. (147-148)
Harlow's work notes the significance of female fighters in resistance movements but does not provide an account of how gender has affected these contexts, and is perhaps too quick to assume that this literature "transcends the distinctions of gender, race, and ethnicity." In contrast, this dissertation explores these distinctions and how they are represented in the works of postcolonial women writers.
Like Harlow, other theorists, such as Paul Gready and Mary deShazer, address resistance literature without offering a clear definition of the term. Paul Gready's Writing as Resistance: Life Stories of Imprisonment, Exile, and Homecoming from Apartheid 9 South Africa claims in its title to engage with resistance literature but never defines resistance nor outlines how these life stories resist. Instead, Gready borrows Foucault's assertion that "the meaning of the text of repression was continually rewritten by the subversive punctuation of resistance" (5). Thus, both repression and resistance to repression utilize the tools of discourse towards their own ends. Gready assumes that if both parties—political torturers and political resisters—have access to tools of discourse, then each may effectively use those tools. However, this blurs the line where oppression ends and resistance begins in a way that actually serves to disempower the resisters: they become linked with their oppressors in this teleological argument. Gready engages in discourse analysis to highlight the use of discourse. In other words, he inverts Foucault.
Foucault suggests that discourse creates the subject, not that the subject creating discourse creates the subject. It is not enough for Gready to identify where political prisoners "punctuate" the discourse of their torturers; he must identify which role in the power relations each prisoner/instance occupies and how that role is enacted.
In A Poetics of Resistance, Mary deShazer attempts to formulate a definition for resistance literature in the form of poetry: "it is important that resistance be defined as an active quest for justice, and as a means of collectively empowering a particular group of activists, not merely as a reactive phenomena created in the response to power and abuses" (2). She does not, however, identify exactly how literature pursues an "active quest for justice." What of literature that is not read by activists? Can it resist? She continues: 10 I use the term resistance as an umbrella covering poetry that challenges
oppressive governments, policies and institutions but often goes beyond mere
opposition. At its best, resistance poetry offers and supports various
counterhegemonic models of social justice and race/gender/class empowerment,
and it engages in acts of political and aesthetic intervention in the service of one
or more of these models. I am especially interested in poems that help readers
explore, explicitly or implicitly, a question asked by Nigerian scholar Chikwenye
Okonjo Ogunyemi: 'How do we share equitably the world's wealth and
concomitant power among the races and between the sexes?' (2)
DeShazer's definition of resistance literature then requires comment on economics and decision-making power. She sees power as governmental and institutional and does not consider the Foucauldean understanding of discursive power. She also claims that poetry is resistive beyond merely its oppositional stance, but this view is limited by her belief that post-apartheid South Africa is "post-resistance." Given that her book was published in 1994, the year of the first democratic elections in South Africa, surely it was -and still is—impossible to conceive of a full cessation of resistance activity and writing.
Apparently, she believes resistance in South Africa ends with opposition to apartheid. For deShazer, then, resistance poetry is "merely oppositional."
The critical work which resonates most closely with my own is Marc
Zimmerman's Literature and Resistance in Guatemala. In this thorough account of
Guatemalan testimonio, poetry, and prose as resistive, Zimmerman begins a useful discussion of how literature resists. His stated aim is to "place Guatemala's resistance 11 cultures and resistance-tending literary structures in relation to Guatemala's overall social, cultural, and literary framework (21). Like Harlow, Zimmerman is interested in literature that reflects large-scale movements; however, he accepts a broader scope for the term resistance. Zimmerman criticizes Harlow's "homogenizing conception of resistance without respecting differences of ideology, class, social formation or culture of origin" (49). He also dispenses with distinctions between opposition and resistance.
Zimmerman acknowledges that oppositional literature can sometimes support the institutions it writes against, simply by participating and reifying them. Yet, he also concedes that "moments which seem faintly oppositional may become the basis of resistance and revolutionary transformation, just as resistance-tending forces may be coopted or incorporated by systemic adjustment or development" (49). Although
Zimmerman's context is Guatemala, these ideas apply to the South African context as well. Zimmerman's project is to outline the interplay between literature and politics; my project is not only to do this, but also to highlight the literary value of the texts.
Resistance Literature
During apartheid, many critics assumed that literature in South Africa was
"resistance literature:" that literature would encapsulate and reproduce political resistance. My project sees resistance as being broader than that which addresses a particular historical moment. Consequently, it explores resistance literature produced both during and after apartheid. Mhlophe's poem, "The Dancer," was written in the mid-
1980s and was part of the large body of anti-apartheid literature. Significantly, after the end of apartheid, the poem continued to be popular. The poem has been performed and 12 read in varying contexts, most notably at the special women's hearings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and it was included in a more recent collection of
Mhlophe's works (2002). Although today "The Dancer" may speak more about
HIV/AIDS or poverty than about racial oppression in South Africa, it still has political resonance. Resistance literature at its best combines political and formal elements to produce writing that carries meaning even after the contemporaneous political moment has passed.
A literary analysis of resistance should ask questions about how literary texts are able to resist as literature. Resistance literature is marked by/features an interplay between theory and practice, as the writing is both a political activity/action and a place to theorize action. Critics, such as Lockett (1990), Kearney (2003), and Gready (2003), who have sought to discuss writing as resistance, suggest that for those who have been oppressed and silenced, the act of writing and speaking out is itself resistive. Literature can resist in more ways than just self-expression, however.
Given that the current South Africa has been born out of struggle, it is not surprising that so many critics have chosen South African literature as the focus for a discussion of resistance literature. However, while others have produced a discussion about resistance literature (how resistance is represented in prose, drama, and poetry), the subject of my scrutiny is resistance literature (how literary form can be in itself resistive and how literature in the post-apartheid context continues to redefine what it means to resist). Assessing how literature resists responds to a major debate within South African literary study and criticism. In 1989 Albie Sachs, former ANC lawyer and exile, 13 famously argued that "[ANC] members should be banned from saying culture is a weapon of struggle" (239). The crux of this remark is that cultural material should be appreciated exclusively for its formal and aesthetic value. He continued by criticizing the
"impoverishment of art" in South Africa, lamenting that "instead of real criticism, we get solidarity criticism" (239). For Sachs, analyzing works from South Africa merely in terms of what they can teach us about politics is reductive, for literature makes meaning by reflecting politics through its artful form. Writers such as Mhlophe, whose poetry and plays deliver aesthetics as well as politics, deserve literary analysis that does not exclude attention to form. My project will integrate formal analysis with a theory of resistance, positing that to present the marginalized life as being evocative and beautiful according to literary standards constitutes resistance.
Benita Parry, one of the few critics of South African literature who has actively attempted to define "resistance," draws on Sachs as well as Njabulo Ndebele's
"ordinary," arguing that writing does not have to be explicitly about politics to be resistive (17). Ndebele affirms that politically relevant literature need not be simplistic when he writes, "to call it 'protest literature' denies literary and artistic value" (49).
According to Ndebele, representations of everyday life may produce formally interesting literary texts that are political in unfamiliar ways. These are the literary manifestations of de Certeau's understanding of the "practice of everyday life." Ndebele and Parry suggest that a representation of the "everyday" and the "ordinary" can evoke sympathy, particularly when public and private spheres conflate, as in South Africa. Thus, formal 14 analysis is important because it encourages an attention to the language of everyday life: to how proverbs, colloquialisms, and the rhythms of daily life become literary.
Creating a genealogy of resistance responds to Fredric Jameson's call to "always historicize!" in The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (ix). The relationship between aesthetics and history is implicit in Foucault's work as well as
Jameson's. Indeed narrativity, fictionality, and historicity can be complex sites for discursive play. Black South African women writers insert their own histories which are often left out of the master narrative of South Africa's past. While none of the writing included in this project is documentary-writing or strictly historical, it does narrativize local and particular histories. Hayden White's work on the blending of fiction and history, as well as de Certeau's analysis in The Writing of History, support my argument that all history and literature involve a blending of fiction and fact, and that literature is one way in which suppressed histories emerge. As Jameson configures "narrative as a socially symbolic act," he dissects the intersection between politics and art. He argues that ideology does not inform symbolic production; "rather the aesthetic act itself is ideological, and the production of aesthetic or narrative form is to be seen as an ideological act in its own right" (PU 79). Thus, aesthetics are part of, and inform, the
"political unconscious" of a culture. This "political unconscious" characterizes literature as subversive and affective because its politics are reflected in a form which captivates and inspires. The forms of works by South African women writers are resistive in that they are particularly gendered and culturally specific. The ways in which these writers mix, hijack and alter genre, for example, discursively activate their own subjective 15 positions. In positing a language of their own, these writers contribute to the resistance against sexism and racism both within and without their own communities, conditions of oppression which might otherwise wholly remove the joy and beauty of life. The rhythm and imagery of this writing defiantly confronts oppression and silencing: these women dance and mourn through their literature.
Historical Context
A number of specific moments comprise the national historical memory of South
Africa both before and during apartheid.3 The following is a brief summary of those historical events which are relevant to, or reflected in, the writing analyzed in this dissertation. From the early history, right until the current moment, the events of South
Africa demonstrate incontrovertibly Foucault's adage: "where there is power, there is resistance" (HS 95). South Africa's early history is comprised of the clashes between the early Dutch settlers (known as "the Boers," who are related to the more contemporary
"Afrikaner") and the British following the discovery of precious minerals. The Dutch were fighting mainly the Khoisan people, but the British began wars with the Xhosa and
Zulu peoples as part of their expansion.4 The Xhosa and Zulus resisted British imperialism, however. Shaka Zulu, for example, led a resistance which coincided with the 1820s and 1830s migration of Boers away from British rule in the Cape Colony. This migration, known as "the Great Trek," is mythologized as one of the key moments in
3 This section uses Leonard Thompson's A History of South Africa as its focal guide for how to categorize and understand the periods of South African history. 4 The fiction of Zoe Wicomb is among the first to represent the histories of the Khoisan and Griqua peoples, see for example You Can 7 Get Lost in Capetown. 16 South African history and continues to be represented in the literature.5 The trek led to the Boer encroachment upon Xhosa land. The fiction and life-writing of Sindiwe
Magona, in particular, refer frequently to the prophecy of a sixteen year-old girl named
Nongqawuse. With the help of her family and the Xhosa chiefs, she spreads the prophecy that all Xhosa must kill their cattle. In Thompson's formulation, this was a religious imperative: those who refused to kill their cattle were Satanic (79). For Magona, referring to folk tradition, Nongqawuse declared that the mass-killing would "drive the white settler into the sea," and thus the killings were an anti-imperial action (FTG 190-191).
Also relevant are the Anglo-Boer wars which broke out in 1880 and 1899 (known as "the South African war" to many in the then-British empire). The Afrikaners called it the War of Independence, and they experienced many casualties as well as the internment of women and children.6 This war has ramifications for the ways in which sisterhood can be conceived. While the war was about colonial control, it interpolated white Boer women, mothers in particular, as enforcers of white authority. The chapter on motherhood explores this roadblock to sisterhood among women across race, or what this dissertation calls "re/sistering." It is, therefore, important to remember that many Boer women had sympathy for those who were oppressed.7
I will refer to the periods as demarcated in Thompson's historical overview. He labels the periods as: The Segregation Era, 1910-1948; The Apartheid Era, 1948-1978;
5 For an analysis of the trek and the construction of the Afrikaner and "volksmoeder" identities, see McClintock (1995), 370 - 379. 6 The fiction of Olive Schreiner (among others) is concerned with women during the Boer War. 701ive Schreiner discusses this result, as do colonial female poets. For examples, see Lockett 1990. 17 Apartheid in Crisis, 1978-1989; The Political Transition, 1989-1994; and The New
South Africa, 1994-Present. During the "Segregation Era," the beginnings of the anti- black legislation, which was to form the basis for apartheid, were established. Under the ruse of producing "separate but equal" populations, the state aggressively pursued segregation in all areas of life. In particular, the 1913 Natives Land Act limited black occupancy, then approximately 80% of the country's population, to 8% of the land.
"The Apartheid Era" began with the National Party (NP) coming to power in
1948 on its policy of apartheid under D.F. Malan. This period produced a staggering number of laws to support the classification of all peoples as either "white," "black," or
"Coloured" (of mixed descent).8 Later, the group "Asians" was added, which referred to people of South Asian descent living in South Africa. The Group Areas Act enshrined separate geographical locations. All those identified as "black" had to begin carrying passbooks which identified their colour and delimited their freedom and mobility. The
Immorality Act of 1950 prohibited miscegenation. The 1951 Bantu Authorities Act established the Bantustans ("homelands") for black people, tracts of land which were impoverished and lacking in resources. Many other pieces of legislation limited rights and access to resources for those classified as anything other than "white." In particular, the 1953 Bantu Education Act established the perpetual under-education of black populations.
8 Some people continue to self-identify as "Coloured," but in general this classification is seen as completely bound up with problematic apartheid classifications. In order to create distance from apartheid's racial schema, most critical writing places the term in scare quotes. It is also typically capitalized as with "Bantu" or "Asian" classifications. 18 The history of this period is rife with stories of resistance. Although it was a time of increased repression, the 1950s were also the first decade of organized resistance.
The African National Congress (ANC) organized strikes and civil disobedience, and in
1955 it adopted the Freedom Charter. In 1956 women marched in protest of pass laws, an event which marked/constituted the birth of women's organizing on a mass-scale. The
1960s were also a decade of increased repression and resistance. The 1960 Sharpeville massacre was a response to the Pan African Congress' demonstration against pass laws.
The massacre and its aftermath also led to the banning of the Pan-African Congress
(PAC) and the ANC. Shortly following the ban, both organizations began underground activity and campaigns of sabotage through their armed wings. The ANC's armed wing was called Umkhonto we Sizwe ("Spear of the Nation," also known as MK). In 1963
Nelson Mandela and other leaders were arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment.
Resistance activity was not always a direct response to the repressive acts of the state, however; many laws and procedures reacted against the effective and ongoing tactics of resistance. Thus, both sides were locked in perpetual struggle. The apartheid government always maintained ultimate control but was continually met with a range of resistance tactics and strategies. The ongoing resistance to apartheid's power led to "The
Apartheid in Crisis" era, which began in 1976 with the Soweto Uprising. During protests to the implementation of Afrikaans as the language of instruction for black students, police opened fire on a student march. This resulted in a year of nationwide strikes, demonstrations, arrests, and riots. Out of this arose the Black Consciousness (BC) 19 movement led by Steve Biko, who was killed the following year while under interrogation in police custody.9
The apartheid government first weakened in the 1980s, as P.W. Botha repealed the pass laws in 1983 and famously told South Africa to "adapt or die." The 1980s were massively violent, resulting in a government-declared state of emergency in 1985, which lasted five years. This period saw political detentions and torture, but also increased resistance activity from the United Democratic Front (UDF) against the government. It is also the period in which violence between black organizations began, such as between the
Inkatha Freedom Party (led by Zulu-leader Buthelezi) and the UDF.
"Political Transition" began in 1989 when F.W. de Klerk came to power. In 1990
Mandela was released, and many apartheid laws were repealed, followed in 1994 by the first free elections in South Africa, which resulted in the election of Mandela and the
ANC. From 1996-1998 the country held the Truth and Reconciliation Commission
(TRC). This body was meant to help the nation heal and to construct a national history and memory. It called on both victims and perpetrators of "gross human-rights violations" to testify. The commission afforded perpetrators amnesty if it was convinced of "full disclosure." The commission offered very little in the way of reparations to victims but hoped that the narrative act of telling one's story would lead to a process of healing.10 In 1997 Mandela stepped down as ANC president and was succeeded by Thabo
Mbeki, who was officially elected in 1999. The country under Mbeki was plagued by
9 The third chapter of this dissertation refers to this period often. It analyzes Kagiso Lesego Molope's Dancing in the Dust, which features a protagonist who is part of the BC and student struggles. 10 My first and second chapters discuss literary representations of the TRC and also how the TRC used literature during its proceedings. 20 charges of corruption, increased violence and crime, and widespread HIV/AIDS. His former deputy Jacob Zuma, who became a controversial choice for the country's leadership after having been charged with sexual assault and corruption, is the current
South African president. Thus, in the post-apartheid period, there is continuing violence and repression as well as resistance.
Although brief, this introduction provides the context for the politics within the literature. With Foucault's claim that "where there is power there is resistance" in mind, I conceptualize South Africa by decade as: 1950s - apartheid legislation and resistance organization; 1960s - Sharpeville and MK; 1970s - Soweto Uprising and BC; 1980s -
Detention and UDF; 1990s - Elections and the TRC; 2000s - gender-based violence and gender-based organizing. In the last decade South Africa has had to face ongoing and new challenges. The most notable of these are AIDS, crime, the highest global rates of sexual and gender-based violence, and corruption. However, South Africa does have transparent political processes; one of the most progressive constitutions in the world (the first to outlaw discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation); the highest number of female politicians; and programs, such as Black Economic Empowerment (BEE), which seek economic redress. The political dynamics of oppression and resistance are, therefore, multi-faceted, textured, and complex. People continue to be oppressed by poverty, racism, geography, and gender. And, subsequently, resistance continues as well.
Despite the focus on fiction, it is important that this analysis be grounded in the political realities of South Africa. Using the term post-apartheid is not meant to signal a utopic end to the problems of racist South Africa. The resistance literature written under 21 apartheid continues to be read, in some cases because of its evocative and interesting formal techniques, but often because unfortunately many of the problems under apartheid remain. Poverty in South Africa continues to be endemic, especially in the black communities. There have been some successes through initiatives such as the BEE program,11 but HIV/AIDS, lack of access to education, widespread unemployment, and ongoing gender-based violence all contribute to a continued frustration with post- apartheid politics. Charges of corruption against the ANC have added to this frustration.
Thus any Utopian vision of "the post-apartheid" South Africa must be met by the harshness of the country's current political reality.
The 'Post' in Post-Apartheid
Just as with the terms postcolonial and postmodern, the "post" in post-apartheid signals much more than an overcoming of the past. The problems of colonialism continue in the postcolonial context. In this study, postcolonial refers primarily to a reading strategy, as does the term postmodern. One possible meaning of postmodern is to refer to an assertion of relativity and play, here both in texts and textual analysis. In this case,
"postmodernist" disruption (in terms of narrative and political configuration) is seen as resistive. In order to comply with Anne McClintock's warning that theorists can be "in a perpetual present marked only by post" (396), I analyze the literature that encodes continuing resistance to the injustices of post-apartheid South Africa, always with a
11 This program is part of the ANC's plan to generate economic growth amongst marginalized communities. While for some communities it has been successful, for others it is part of a larger problem of the widening gap between the haves and have-nots in South Africa. For more information about BEE see Iheduru. BEE is discussed in further detail in relation to Kopano Matlwa's Coconut in chapter four. 22 hopeful view of the future. Kopano Matlwa reflects this hopefulness in her fiction but also in her discussions, "I think it is a different time and has its different challenges [...]
But I don't want to be hopeless about things. We are also very fortunate [...] we are in this strange place in South Africa now, sort of like an in-between space and I think that also comes with its own challenges. But [...] it's exciting" (Dlamini). The chapter on
Matlwa's writing takes up the notion of the "in-between" as defined by Homi Bhabha, who treats it as a site of resistance.
The "in-between" becomes the terrain for postmodern, postcolonial play and resistance. Bhabha says that the "seizure of the sign [...] allows the articulation of subaltern agency to emerge as relocation and reinscription" (277). He goes on to assert,
"This is the historical movement of hybridity as camouflage, as a contesting, antagonistic agency [...] a space in-between the rules of engagement" (277). Thus, for Bhabha, writing itself is an in-between place where resistance is a possibility. This coincides with
Deleuze and Guattari's sense of deterritorializaton as a space of possible resistance.
Taking up Foucault's critique of the subject as a unified whole, Deleuze and Guattari posit the deterritorialized subject.12 Without a centre, as in the in-between, there is freedom to transcend power's hold over the subject. Thus in reterritorializing, new
"plateaus" and "affinities" can be reached. Deleuze and Guattari, along with Bhabha, unite the in-between with a sense of hope. For Deleuze and Guattari the notion of one's
"becoming" is necessarily hopeful: if one is always in the process of becoming, and
12 This is a summary of Deleuze and Guattari's complex and evolving notions of deterritorialization, nomadology, rhizome, plateaus, and becoming in A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. These issues emerge again in the chapter on Kagiso Lesego Molope and girlhood. 23 always becoming is a process where multiplicities conjoin, there is constant possibility for a healthier and more productive renewal. In the second chapter I call this type of renewal "regeneration" and argue that it is a prime mode of resistance and resistance writing.
Postmodernism is not a way out of analyzing subjectivity and space with regards to history. The postmodernist notion of "becoming," however, provides a sense of possibility. Again, my project is not to naively reject the problems of post-apartheid.
However, rejecting hope outright is also unproductive; resistance is not possible without imagining change. Like the writers who are the subject of this discussion, I continue to see positive change as both possible and inevitable in a country where so much important artistic and political activity is merging to create spaces for resistance.
Feminism. Womanism. Sisterhood
The premise of this dissertation is an anti-racist and anti-sexist theoretical paradigm which addresses a continuing need for an analysis of resistance to both gender and racial oppression. The interaction between theories of power/resistance and theories of feminism informs this project. Yet, it is necessary to problematize the attempt to merge
Foucault and feminism, for Foucault rarely offers a perspective of how gender is affected by his genealogy of power. In their introduction to the collection Feminism and Foucault,
Irene Diamond and Lee Quimby outline four "convergences" between feminist theory and Foucauldean theory (x).13 The collection both discusses the overlap between
13 The full excerpt reads: 24 feminism(s) and Foucault and inserts a feminist perspective into Foucauldean theory.
The editors warn that because "his almost exclusive focus on works by men pushes women's discourses of resistance to the margins of his texts" (xvi), a feminist
Foucauldean analysis needs to insert works by and about women into Foucauldean theories of resistance.
I use a feminist/womanist critical view alongside a postcolonial reading strategy in order to define resistance through South African literature. I posit that resistance literature in South Africa is informed by a re/sistering: women across race and class lines form alliances to create change. It is worth considering some of the feminist and womanist theory that has led to feminism's splintering, as in the genealogy of feminism there have been ruptures caused by women resisting the power imbalances within their movements. Tracing these ruptures gives background and context to the current impetus to "re/sister."
There are many well-known critiques of feminist movements and their historical exclusivity. Some of the most famous critiques came from Chandra Talpade Mohanty in her "Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses," in which she critiques academic feminism for usurping the voices, ideas, and struggles of "third world women" (51) in hopes of a "sisterhood" that has proven to be more exclusive than
Both identify the body as the site of power, that is, as the locus of domination through which docility is accomplished and subjectivity constituted. Both point to the local and intimate operations of power rather than focusing exclusively on the supreme power of the state. Both bring to the fore the crucial role of discourse in its capacity to produce and sustain hegemonic power and emphasize the challenges contained within marginalized and/or unrecognized discourses. And both criticize the ways in which Western humanism has privileged the experience of the Western masculine elite as it proclaims universals about truth, freedom, and human nature. 25 inclusive. Such critiques caused the movement to establish multiple feminisms. While some view this as a splintering, and therefore weakening, of feminism, transnational feminists understand that a multiplicity of feminisms enables localized feminisms to target particular struggles. The de-centering and deterritorializing of feminism allows new strategies and affinities to emerge. Some of the most strident opponents to the totalizing and exclusionary forms of Western feminism are now calling for what I term a
"re/sistering." Mohanty reconsiders her original concerns in "Under Western Eyes
Revisited" and Feminism without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity.
In these more recent texts, she discusses how alliances among women globally can oppose inequities in particular locations. She is, in essence, suggesting that while the original project of feminist sisterhood was rife with problems, the need to re/sister is particularly urgent.
Black and African theorists have also taken issue with the exclusionary nature of
Western feminism. Debates between the appropriateness of feminism versus the more black-focused womanism are well-known in literary analysis. Alice Walker and
Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi have argued for womanism instead of feminism. The definition of womanism is most often attributed to Ogunyemi, who frames it as a rejection of Western feminism in favour of a gender analysis rooted in black and/or
African culture (64). Ogunyemi discusses the problems with Western feminism, including its historical racism, the African perception that it is anti-male, and its lack of relevance for African women. This contrasts with Alice Walker's use of the term, which 26 positions feminism and womanism on the same continuum of women's resistance.14 As
Walker puts it, "womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender" (1). She emphasizes that for black women, feminism must take into account the politics of race and must form alliances with oppressed black men (1).
These debates were taken up in literary studies in South Africa with Cecily
Lockett's "Feminism(s) and Writing in English in South Africa," which argues that womanism is superior to feminism for the analysis of South African literature. M.J.
Daymond's South African Feminisms: Writing, Theory and Criticism 1990-1994 includes a number of feminist responses to Lockett's claims. Lockett's concern about African women being "spoken for" by white Western women has the potential to silence African women who use feminist analysis. Nevertheless, most of the contributors to Daymond's collection view womanism as a form of feminism and do not see the need to differentiate between race-based gender critiques and other forms of feminism. Of particular importance is Zoe Wicomb's article, "To Hear the Variety of Discourses," which asks why black patriarchy should not be interrogated along with white imperialism and which suggests that womanism's focus on strength within black/African communities often silences women who wish to point out the sexism in and from these communities (46).
Wicomb's discussion disagrees with Sachs' critique of literature as political pamphleteering. She cites a sexist and racist cultural performance at an ANC event where
Sachs was the main speaker. Articulating the need for art that continues to resist oppression, Wicomb uses this incident to challenge Sachs and to suggest that literature is
14 Ogunyemi asserts that her construction of the term is separate and distinct from Walker's. 27 still an important site for interrogating the sexist politics within race-based movements.
Literature should not be mere political pamphleteering, but should expose the ordinary contradictions, struggles, and poignancies of everyday life.
Local, race-based struggles and feminism are not antithetical. Current feminist theory is moving/has moved beyond rupture into a space of coalition, and part of conceiving of these coalitions is to re-imagine sisterhood. For example, Sarah Bracke's "Different
Worlds Possible: Feminist Yearnings for Shared Futures" seeks strength within alliances that cross many political divisions. Bracke's "yearning" (97) is for a renewal of sisterhood and alliance across distance. This is mirrored in the work of bell hooks, whose
Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics importantly asserts a race-based critique of feminism while still arguing that sisterhood across races is possible. While hooks clearly welcomes the divisions that have resulted from the interrogation of the hegemony of the women's movement, she urges feminists to remain linked by solidarity. She argues that the joke "there are as many feminisms as there are feminists" is not funny, but rather reveals a problematic trend because this sentiment "indicates a growing disinterest in feminism as a radical political movement. It is a despairing gesture expressive of the belief that solidarity between women is not possible" (Feminist Theory 17). She reminds us that feminism must be defined as "a movement to end sexist oppression" (FT 17), but that differences within this central definition may flourish. As Bracke and hooks so persuasively argue, the divisions within feminism must be overcome by/through sisterhood. 28 Wicomb, Bracke, and hooks are representative of the growing trend towards coalition and the revitalization of sisterhood, particularly in transnational and postcolonial contexts. This explains the convergence between Foucault and Mohanty that begins this section. Mohanty's revisiting of her own "Under Western Eyes" is emblematic of how feminisms have shifted over time. Ketu Katrak explicates the
Foucauldean aspect of Mohanty's Feminist Genealogies. Foucault states that genealogical analysis is a historicization that allows for multiplicity, arguing that genealogy opposes itself to "origin." Origins are fixed, whereas genealogies are plural and in flux.15 This formulation relates nicely to both postcolonial and feminist theories as they attempt to locate subjectivity as both rooted in history and capable of change. Katrak notes that postcolonial women "deploy useful aspects of Western feminism such as the theorizing of women's experience, testimony and agency" (56), and she sees Mohanty's reappraisal of the possibilities for coalition amongst feminists as part of the continuing genealogy of feminism.
Part of the resistance to gender and racial oppression is to negotiate the boundaries between division and unity. The texts by South African women in this study resist the interlocking oppressions of gender and race through strategic unities. Thus, part of my project is to explore the representation of feminism/womanism in fictional texts and to analyze how the texts redefine "sisterhood." This is not to dismiss concerns over
"sisterhood," but to position sisterhood as one of the affinities or alliances that can be
15 Much of this is written in "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History," but he applies the idea of genealogical analysis widely. 29 politically powerful. Literature, in its representations of a plurality of lives and voices, offers the opportunity to help inform new sisterhoods. Juliana Nfah-Abbenyi finds that transnational literary analysis is itself an act of re/sistering: "I see the act of reclaiming and the recovery of African women's texts a practice of writing and theory not common to feminist politics and praxis" (149). Re/sistering through South African women's texts highlights resistances and sisterly relationships that are often unnoticed.
Sisters differ from, but maintain a connection with, each other. So too do women across racial divides. By asserting the particularities of difference while transcending difference along strategic unities, women in South Africa are able to resist sexism and racism. Women, particularly in South Africa, have come to understand that divisions between women have resulted in serious political and familial disempowerment and disadvantages and that there is a reinvigorated need for "sisterhood."
The Personal Is Political
Much of the work on feminisms and feminist theory that informs this project still resonates with the second-wave feminist adage, "the personal is political." While it is difficult to trace the origins of the phrase,16 there is no question that this particular dictum best describes much of feminist organizing and theory, despite the fact that some theorists have levied harsh critiques against the term. Diana Fuss importantly suggests that "the problem with attributing political significance to every personal action is that the political
16 Most credit Carol Hanisch with the coinage from an article by that name appearing in the 1970 collection, Notes from the Second Year: Women's Liberation, edited by Shulamith Firestone and Anne Koedt. In an introduction to her 2006 "The Personal Is Political" Carol Hanisch describes how the original article was so named by the editors. Thus, although Hanisch is often seen within feminist scholarship as the one who coined the term, the coinage itself is representative of feminist collectivity. 30 is soon voided of any meaning or specificity at all, and the personal is paradoxically de-personalized" (101). However, the contiguity between personal and political remains.
Fuss acknowledges that there is a relationship between personal and political, and that she is simply concerned over their equation. While conceding her point, I find that the distinction between the personal and the political is blurry. The primary texts of this study reveal a cause and effect relationship between political contexts and personal choices. There is also a sense of political expression through personal writing. And while
I do not mean to echo the simplistic parroting of the adage without proper academic critique, I believe that the feminist investment in it is itself of value.
I believe that one of the ways we resist through re/sistering is to acknowledge the important gains of feminist theory and action. Even as we trouble our terms and interrogate our assumptions, we must not theorize away our successes. The phrase "the personal is political" has been an important call to consciousness for many activists - within both feminist and other movements—and it continues to function as such.17 It is clear in the works analyzed in this study that the personal is political and also that the political is personal: our personal lives, the politics of the "everyday," are caused by and affect politics on a larger scale. So, too, do political contexts, movements, and moments affect personal lives.
The personal resonates with Ndebele's idea of the "everyday." Describing the importance of "the everyday," Ndebele discusses "political literature" and its reception:
17 As part of the research for this dissertation I interviewed Kagiso Lesego Molope. She said "I know that people are tired of the phrase 'the personal is political'" and then we both said at the same time "but it is still true!" Our sudden agreement made us both smile; we both feel that we are living proof of the aptness of the adage. 31 "much of this writing has been denounced as unartistic, and too political. There was more politics than art. In defence of the writing, it was asserted that there was nothing wrong with politics in literature because everything in South Africa, anyway, is political.
Both positions, it seems to me, miss the mark" (47). These concerns mirror Fuss' own in terms of her critique of "the personal is political" as a slogan. Suggesting that everything is political detracts from the specificity of the everyday and evacuates "the political" of meaning. If everything is political, what can it mean to be political?
Ndebele goes on to set up what he terms a "dialectic between personal and public"
(57). Ndebele privileges the personal over the public because he regards the personal, the everyday, as being more broadly relevant and more literarily interesting. Political moments shift and evolve, but the rhythm of everyday life maintains relevance in numerous circumstances. People may not see their lives reflected in large-scale political moments and movements but can identify with the complexities and conflicts of everyday life. Even so, Ndebele's preference for the personal is limiting. This may be, perhaps, where a feminist intervention is useful. Ndebele situates the ordinary in opposition to the spectacular (53), where the spectacular encompasses large-scale politics. In his South
African example, apartheid and the revolutionary struggle against it are the spectacle represented in literature. Ndebele contends that representing the ordinary, instead of the spectacular, encodes the texture of the lives of most people. While all of South Africa has been affected by apartheid and its aftermath, daily life has always had its own struggles and poignancies. The problem with dichotomizing the spectacular versus the ordinary is that it erases the possibility for contradiction and confluence. If one accepts that "the 32 personal is political," it is difficult to understand the ordinary as the opposite of the spectacular. Sometimes the spectacular can become ordinary—as people become accustomed to horrendous conditions, for example—and sometimes an ordinary life is quite extraordinary. Dichotomous thinking about ordinary/spectacular and personal/political leaves no space for those whose lives inherently, necessarily, and finally transverse these boundaries and move in and out of these categorical spaces. The relationship between the personal and political is contextual, nuanced, and in flux.
However, the intersection of where the personal meets the political remains vital to the understanding of feminist theories, practices, and texts. Given my role in this analysis, I shall attempt to define how the politics of South African resistance literature might affect me, and be affected by me, personally.
Insider/Outsider
I am a woman born in South Africa but occupying a Western feminist paradigm.
Some theoretical insights can be gained from my own position in relation to the subject(s) of my critique. I am mindful of Diana Fuss' contention that lived experience may essentialize a sense of authority. Drawing on the theory of Edward Said, she asserts that the "artificial boundary between insider and outsider necessarily contains rather than disseminates knowledge" (115). Part of what makes resistance literature interesting is that it must often negotiate the boundary between insider and outsider, that is, a writer can at once be part of a movement and write from outside it. It is important to recognize my own role in the contexts of South Africa, feminism, and struggle. I was born in South
Africa but have lived in Canada since infancy. I am drawn to South Africa because of my 33 familial and research relationships, as well as nostalgia for the landscape, peoples, and cultures. Undoubtedly, I am excited by the broad change within my lifetime: such highs and lows of excitement, hope, disappointment, and struggle. Yet I am an outsider. I do not have to encounter most of the challenges (such as threats of violence, economic disparity, and political upheaval) that many South Africans do. I am of a different class, 1 fi race, and location than some of the women whose work I explore. The insider/outsider dynamic allows me to investigate my connection to them and to their work. Diasporas carry their own politics of longing and belonging. While this is not the subject of my work, it certainly impinges on it.
I am conscious that in selecting black South African authors, I am dangerously approaching Lockett's concern over who can speak for whom. In Mark Sanders' work,
Complicities, he articulates the responsibility academics' and critics' carry in corroborating apartheid logic by continuing to exist in, and to perpetuate, oppressive paradigms. As an academic working on South African literature, I run the risk of parasitism. Much of what has made feminist and postcolonial criticism such debated and contentious fields is that there are, in my view, heavier stakes to academic inquiry. The communities that we research and discuss are living, politicized, and critically-minded themselves.
There is therefore a conflict between academic inquiry (in which one is supposed to risk being wrong) and our desire to do justice to communities that have experienced
18 It is important to note simultaneously that in the post-apartheid arena race is no longer a definitive marker of class. Kagiso Lesego Molope lives in Canada now, and Kopano Matlwa is a doctor: our relative privilege is no longer sharply demarcated by our racial difference. 34 injustice and misrepresentation in the past. The result of the ensuing anxiety is that the literature from marginalized communities does not receive scholarly analysis. The absence of scholarship on this work signals the need for increased attention, even from critics who are "outside" these communities. Sachs' concern about "political pamphleteering" is that the literature will not be treated as valid. Thus, it is important to view all writing as equally subject to critique. The insider/outsider position is part of how
I enact and explore re/sistering. Just as sisters do not always have to agree to maintain connection, literary works can be critiqued without being invalidated.
My interest in sisterhood stems from many years working with feminist theories and movements. I have participated both as an academic and as an activist in the anti- globalization and anti-violence movements by working with many community organizations toward ending gender-based violence. In my experience, transnational feminists are often able to bridge differences in order to fight local and global struggles. I have noticed that activist movements are energized, informed, and supported by academic feminist work. And the academic work analyzes, explains, and is equally informed by grassroots movements. The reciprocity between academic and activist feminism is widely discussed. South African critics Shireen Hassim and Cherryl Walker argue for the connection and cooperation between South African academic and activist feminism:
While it is essential for white academics to take black accusations of racism and
ethnocentrism seriously, black academics and activists must confront the divisions
of class and culture among black women and recognise the particular character of 35 academic work. Experience is not the only source of understanding. However,
for research to be feminist, there must be a broad political commitment. (523)
By articulating the potential conflicts between academic and activist feminists, Hassim and Walker facilitate coalition. We must all work to challenge our assumptions, but that does not prevent academic and activist feminists from creating alliances that mutually inform and support one another.
My position as insider/outsider helps me to maintain my connection with the literature that I analyze. It also helps me maintain a sense of how the literature functions as resistance. While I am able to acknowledge my "complicity" (as framed by Sanders), I am reluctant to succumb to a sense of guilt or judgment. Guilt is unproductive, and apologies are inadequate. I am critical of my privileged class position and also my own implication in South African politics. It is, therefore, important to ask how activism and academic work can function together. Just as I am making the claim that fiction and life- writing are both theory and practice, I believe the same to be true of academic work.
While academic work alone is unable to bring forth change on the levels of policy and personal experience, the conversation between academics and activists has always been one that mutually informs and influences. It is my hope that this work will become part of a larger conversation about women's resistances in South Africa and how these are generating change.
Five Wavs that Literature Resists
I define resistance literature as: a body of texts that challenge the dominant paradigm and, thereby, may create change in policy, ideology, and/or hegemony; or texts 36 that create, or lead to, personal transformations on the part of their authors and audiences. I draw on theorists such as Foucault to discuss the interaction between power and writing, and I absorb these and other theories of political resistance into five methods of resistance. I classify the various modes of resistance in literature into main strategies.
The first of these is the critical "I": the assertion of self, in life-writing or autobiographical fiction, as resistance. By constructing identity in writing and positing a selfhood that has been under erasure, literature resists.
Several of the authors in this dissertation construct a critical "I," but the one who exemplifies it most is Sindiwe Magona. Her writing is similar to the testimonio genre of
Latin America. In his study of Guatemalan testimonio, Marc Zimmerman makes some parallel arguments about resistance literature and its functions. Zimmerman notes how testimonio draws on a revolutionary tradition but inserts an indigenous, lower-class, and often excluded perspective. Thus in asserting the self, writers of testimonio are able to affect the elite culture: "the emergence of popular forces and those representing popular concerns is part of a process which pressures elite modes of culture and literary discourse, to generate a new, more richly inflected cultural model in which testimonio emerges as one of its prime modes of expression [...]" (13). Drawing on Jameson,
Zimmerman theorizes testimonio as a site of "cognitive mapping," (41) classifying it as resistance literature. Zimmerman's interest in testimonio as resistance literature overlaps with my discussion of South African life-writing as agency: writers insert themselves into existence through their writing and their critical "I." Zimmerman advocates for detailed analysis of texts in addition to political movements: "while contemporary society may 37 have absorbed considerable dimensions of apocalyptic resistance (e.g. revolutionary transformation), nevertheless the cultural practices of everyday life and even their apparently non-radical written expression, offer a field of oppositions whose mechanisms and transformative potential [...] are far from having been fully explored" (42). In post- apartheid South Africa, where the revolutionary forces are now in control, the life-writing of women is able to represent the oppositional forces still at play.
The notion of the critical "I" is meant to invoke a sense of a critical "eye": in writing (about) their own subjectivity, the writers I focus on look outward as well as inward. They position themselves not only as individuals but also as members of a society in which race, class, sexuality, and gender matter. They are critical of their political context as well as their role in their world. Sindiwe Magona is the only author in this study who uses the genre of life-writing, but all of the authors balance a representation of their selfhood and their society. Sometimes the author's biography becomes relevant in the discussion of how their texts function resistively, and sometimes it is the characters themselves who create this inward/outward focus to inspire change.
The second method of resistance is narrative that itself acts or activates. This includes experimental narratives that use postmodern strategies to resist dominant literary forms as a parallel to resisting dominant paradigms. The idea that narration can be action fits with the paradigm I employ concerning resistance literature: that is, the literature does not merely reflect resistance, but is resistant itself. The chapter on Kopano Matlwa examines some of these issues. Matlwa hybridizes language as part of her discussion of living "in-between" the expectations of blackness and whiteness. Given that the issue of 38 language has been pivotal in discussions of postcolonial literature, the idea that the destabilization of language produces and mirrors political destabilization signals how literature's use of language informs its resistive potential. Writing can be action, and this dissertation considers how that process works and what its effects may be.
The third type of resistance I explore is "revolutionary" writing: writing that is written about, and/or for the purpose of producing, political revolution. This is the type of writing Sachs pejoratively termed "pamphleteering," but revolutionary writing, employing overtly literary devices and assuming literary forms, inspires revolutions and revolutionaries in ways that pamphlets and slogans cannot. Most of the works in this dissertation are not about revolutions as such; however, they may contain scenes of political action, protest, community organizing, and other examples of revolutionary activity. By encapsulating these historical events, fiction, drama, and life-writing are able to provide a sense of how revolutionary activity has worked. This gives an important sense of historicity to the literature, but also inspires ongoing revolutionary activity in that it provides models. Kagiso Lesego Molope's Dancing in the Dust portrays the student resistance movement. She both encodes revolution as it took place and encourages continuing a revolution that has not fully realized the goals of freedom, particularly for women and girls. Revolutionary writing is, in some ways, the most obviously resistive; however, content alone cannot inspire resistance. Sachs is correct: if written works are only meant to be part of revolutions, they are not literary. The works studied here are examples of revolutionary writing that retain their literary value through 39 structure, construction, and overall effect. These are not pamphlets, but revolutionary texts that resist through both form and content.
The fourth type of resistance is that which employs community and collective strategies. I analyze how collectivity is resistive, including how writing and theatre collectives are themselves sites and processes of resistance. Sometimes it is the process and production of literary or dramatic works that make them resistive. Often the writing itself represents collective work and action as politically resistive. This writing speaks in particular to the idea of a reclaimed "sisterhood" (but can also involve coalition across any gendered or cultural line) as it inscribes the need for coalition. Part of renewing a sense of sisterhood amongst feminists is recognizing difference and working through it.
Just as writing collectives have to negotiate disagreements and differences in vision, so do feminisms and feminists. Coalition work is itself resistive because it enables the challenges posed by difference to be transcended and redeployed as strength. Each chapter in this dissertation draws conclusions about feminist collectivity, transnational feminism, or the potential for re/sistering to bring together communities of struggle and celebration.
Lastly, I discuss the use of voice as resistance in writing. This is a discussion of how form can itself reflect "culture as a weapon of struggle." Much of this section is concerned with rhythm and music. In South Africa, writing is often compared with jazz and other forms of music, and I investigate how the rhythm of South African writers is able to inspire resisters. I posit that the resistive capacity of writing lies in the formal qualities; the aspects that make these works valuable as literature are the same aspects 40 that make them effective as resistance. The literary quality of resistance literature better infiltrates and inspires the imagination than prosaic "pamphleteering." This both underscores and challenges Sachs; he wants literature to be read as literature for this reason, and perhaps ignores the ways in which this has always-already been how resistance literature has worked in South Africa. The first chapter, which analyzes the poetry and drama of Gcina Mhlophe, considers how rhythm and voice can be used to inspire change.
These five strategies of resistance are not exhaustive, but they begin to construct and synthesize ways in which resistance literature works. This dissertation does not hope to express and categorize all there is to know about resistance literature; rather, it is a step towards defining resistance literature, analyzing how it works, and critiquing literary works within its framework. Post-apartheid South Africa is an ideal place to begin this discussion. The current society and culture are emerging from a strong history of resistance and are looking ahead to further organizing and change. My claims are at once local and specific to South Africa as well as applicable to broader contexts. It is my hope that the five ways in which literature resists may be useful in analyzing resistance literatures from other regions. In this way, a sense of coalition is possible: analyzing local concerns in the context of global relevance is how literature continues to be resistive across cultural, ethnic, gendered, and linguistic boundaries.
Chapter Breakdown
Because these five strategies apply differently to the works of different writers, I have chosen to organize my dissertation according to individual writers and their works. 41 Each chapter also delves into how a work constructs a particular theme and/or mode of resistance. Chapter one addresses the work of Gcina Mhlophe, who has written drama, short stories, and poetry. Here, I consider "voice and resistance": how articulation, self- expression, and collective raising of voices have enabled South African resistance, particularly for women. Mhlophe's story "The Toilet," for example, speaks evocatively to the need for a place to write (it can be considered a South African parallel to Virginia
Woolf s A Room of One's Own) as she describes making use of a public toilet as the only space in which she could have privacy enough to write. Her poem "The Dancer" represents resistance through celebration, even in troubling circumstances. I discuss her drama, specifically the play Have you Seen Zandile?, and how performance is a type of resistance as well, drawing on South African dramatist and critic Zakes Mda's definitions of "resistance theatre" and "theatre for development" ("Current Trends"). I explore how
Mhlophe has been able to inspire revolutionary and resistive activity through her connection with audience and her work with women's storytelling groups. Because it is important to note the particularities of genre and how they help facilitate resistance, in this chapter I pay special attention to the forms of poetry and drama and discuss how they provide the means to resist differently from prose.
Chapter two focuses on the theme of motherhood as resistance through the novel
Mother to Mother by Sindiwe Magona. Magona published in exile during apartheid, in particular life-writing and short stories that tried to insert black South African female subjectivity into the literary arena. Her writing after apartheid has captured post-apartheid political tensions in a way that blends literarily evocative prose and precise political 42 analysis. Magona combines the ordinary (recalling Ndebele) with the fantastic. She documents black South African women's lives, but surpasses mere fact in order to challenge definitive fiction and fact in storytelling. This relates especially to the South
African context after the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC): the large-scale and state-sponsored forum for telling "stories" prompted a country-wide discussion of the blending of fiction and fact or history, of the power of narrative, and of the ways in which stories matter and can produce change. The TRC tried to foster reconciliation, but
Magona sees this as a failed project. I argue that her novel attempts regeneration, rather than reconciliation, and that it is the figure of the mother who can foster this resistive reconstruction. Magona's Mother to Mother traces in fiction the relationship between the mother of Amy Biehl, a white woman killed in a primarily black township in the days leading up to the end of apartheid, and the mother of one of Biehl's murderers. The novel encapsulates the power of collectivity for women and encodes some of the discourses surrounding the TRC, such as the power of forgiveness, the essence of truth-telling in
"stories," and the effects of gender on these nuanced discussions. This novel is a prime example of re/sistering; its tone, epistolary form, and content demonstrate commonality through both a shared suffering and a longing for change.
Chapter three considers the work of Kagiso Lesego Molope, a South African woman who now lives and writes in Canada. Her Dancing in the Dust is an example of revolutionary writing but reconfigures the idea of revolutionary political work within the world of a young African girl. The chapter focuses on girlhood as resistance, via the trajectory from the anti-apartheid student movement to contemporary movements of girl 43 re/sisters. Dancing in the Dust is one of the first South African novels written by a woman that engages with the intersection of sexuality and political "sisterhood." The protagonist Tihelo, a young woman, is coming into her own as an activist, a woman, and a lesbian. Here I explore the idea of re/sistering as I discuss coalitions between and amongst women. This includes women working together within resistance movements, women working across transnational borders (Molope works in Canada but her books are read in South African schools), and women's transformative coalitions across race. I discuss the context of South African education, which is a continuing site for resistance and critique, since the student movements (of which Tihelo becomes a part in the novel) were and continue to be tremendously important. This is encoded in Molope's writing and is still relevant because of the ongoing issues in education and resistance.
Molope constructs writing that resists: she engages both political and private experiences, reflected through an artful style that speaks of cultural and political change, while resisting dominant narratives about gender, race, and power. In the final line of this text, the protagonist signs a letter: "Tihelo Masimo, Revolutionary." The writing thus makes space for the reclamation of power on the level of political protest as well as in the personal, aesthetic, and cultural realms. This novel resists by creating a deliberate representation of female resisters - those often left out of the discourse of political resistance in anti-apartheid movements. It was written after apartheid's end but is still relevant in post-apartheid South Africa because of the reclamation of the history of resistance movements and their gendered nuances. The novel also captures the "ordinary" life of the township and of a young girl's journey. Many of the girls the novel seeks to 44 inspire will not participate in armed resistance movements, but many of them resist in their own everyday lives. Molope's text shows that continuing relevance for resistance literature is possible, even when it addresses a particular historical moment, if there are elements that endure over time and resonate with new political contexts. The novel is taught in schools across South Africa today, thus enhancing its own political efficacy.
Resistance literature after apartheid can transform how African girls see themselves as they can, for the first time, have strong models in the books that they read.
The last chapter concerns cosmopolitanism as resistance and focuses on Kopano
Matlwa, a young writer whose first novel Coconut won the European Union Literary
Award in 2006. Matlwa's novel portrays two young South African women of very different class positions. The novel explores issues of gender through class and race. It provides a site from which one can explore how resistance literature is working in "the new South Africa" where sharp class divisions redefine how "sisterhood" and feminist coalition are possible between black women as well as between women across race. In this section, I consider how re/sisters are able to become allies across ethnic, class, and language lines. This is important because it provides a model for resisting division and for forming coalitions for the mutual betterment of various groups of women.
Matlwa's novel takes up issues of language - a source of complex conflict in
South Africa where the eleven official languages have led to much controversy. We know that, although there are officially eleven national languages, English is used most commonly in public life. It is important to interrogate the implications of English dominance in terms of education, culture, and reconciliation. Despite the challenges 45 produced by languages in conflict, there is also a huge amount of linguistic mixing, which can lead to interesting formal and linguistic resistances. While language is seen as a mode of oppression in the novel—language can function as assimilation and cultural dominance—it can also be used to resist. This is particularly important in the South
African context, where language issues led to the Soweto uprising of 1976 and continue to be a vexing question in terms of how communication and coalition can be possible.
In this chapter, I also examine the resistive potential of various hybridities.
Matlwa employs language mixing, and by peppering her prose with phrases from different languages, she demonstrates the complexities of language sharing and of overcoming language dominance. This linguistic hybridity, the racial hybridity of some characters, and also the title "Coconut" (meant to evoke black on the outside but white on the inside), open up a discussion of hybridity's resistive potential. Hybridity can itself be a signal of resistance: in a place like South Africa where the attempt to categorize race was so intense, it is resistive to show that there can be no simplistic categorizations when racial and cultural mixing are so prevalent. The discussion of hybridity also encapsulates
Bhabha's discussion of borderlands and "nation and narration," while moving well beyond it. Bhabha calls hybridity resistive because it encodes biologically racialized mixing. His work relies, therefore, on essentialized biological constructions. In configuring hybridity as pertaining to situations where biological races mix, he is relying 46 on the biologically-defined categories he seeks to problematize.19 Biological and racial hybridity are important in South Africa, but I am more interested in linguistic and literary hybridity, as with border-crossings that relate to transnational feminist work and literary action.
Ultimately, Coconut compares racial mixing to a variety of mixings. It therefore demands that the questions we ask about resistance in postcolonial literature consider a cosmopolitan ethic. Transnational feminisms exemplify resistance through re/sistering for the betterment of certain movements, their participants, and their societies; they are part of a wider movement of connections between local communities and global social, economic, and political connections that fuse together seemingly disparate regions.
Matlwa's example of resistance literature provokes an analysis of where and how the local and global meet, and how this may have an effect on both resistance literature and re/sistering in the future.
In my conclusion, I reflect back on "resistance literature" in South Africa: how it is useful and how it has been transcended, as well as which new directions it may take.
Some critics have tired of thinking through texts as "resistance," when their effects are intangible and nebulous. The argument in my conclusion, and throughout this dissertation, is that resistance literature's impact on the imagination is indeed immeasurable but that this characteristic does not negate its importance. Many critics cite the imagination—unregulated, in flux, and defined by possibility—as one of the most
19 Diana Fuss provides a thoughtful analysis of how some of the most "anti-essential" theorists such as Lacan and Derrida always rely on an essentialized view of gender. Bhabha's work is similar in this way: it is a disavowal of essence that relies on essence. 47 potentially transformative spaces. In my conclusion, I forecast how this discussion of resistance literature can apply to postcolonial and global literature as they continue to be defined as well as how transnational women's movements continue to intersect with re/sistering in literature, in the local and global movements it inscribes, and in the on going dialogue that academic, activist, and literary feminisms construct. The lesson in the literature of re/sistering is ultimately one of hope. And to remain hopeful is sometimes the most powerful resistance of all. 48
Chapter One
Voice and Resistance: Gcina Mhlophe
"Say No, Black Woman/ Say No/ When they call your white sister/ a madam" (Mhlophe, Love Child 45).
Voice is a powerful tool of resistance. This chapter explores how the use of voice in theatre, oral traditions, music, and protest has been a force for both social resistance and its representation. Voice and resistance are discussed in conjunction with one another in critical writings, yet few directly articulate the connection. For example, Es'kia
Mphahlele, the well-known South African writer, activist, and critic, calls writers whose work challenges oppression "voices in the whirlwind" (Voices 1973). Duncan Brown's research explores how "voicing the text" resists dominant paradigms and modes of cultural thought and production (Voicing 1999). And Stella Viljoen describes the
"resistance without resistance" (331) that a collectivity of voices across cultures can create. Writer and performer Gcina Mhlophe's work has been instrumental in anti- apartheid resistance. During apartheid, Mhlophe's art spoke to and from a resistant population and thus inspired and captured an oppositional movement. Mhlophe's poetry and drama urge members of her black community to raise their voices in resistance.
Mhlophe's poem "Say No" {Love Child 45) uses the imperative mood to encourage this raising of voices. Mhlophe performed "Say No" at a freedom fighter's funeral in 1987. A well-known performer, she expanded out from traditional theatre spaces to use her craft towards anti-apartheid resistance. When freedom fighters died, their communities would mourn collectively, so funerals often became sites of political 49 protest, including resistance chanting, singing, and poetry. Asked to recite this poem at one such funeral, Mhlophe created a collectivity of voices challenging apartheid violence.
The women at the funeral began to chant the poem's refrain together: "Say No, Black
Woman, Say No / When they call your husband at the age of 60 / a boy" (45). The poem repeats "Say No" about various racist configurations under apartheid. The poem also includes issues of gender: "Say No, Black Woman / Say No/ When they call your white sister/ a madam" (45). I chose this for this chapter's epigraph because Mhlophe not only wishes to raise her voice against racist oppression but also against the divisions of women.20 Mhlophe's poem raised such fervor at the funeral that riot police were called in to quell the "mostly female audience on its feet, joining her scorn for a society which relegates women to the bottom rung" (Motanyane 45). The freedom fighter's funeral became the stage for both anti-apartheid and gender-based resistance. This poem has continued to be read beyond the end of apartheid, demonstrating the ongoing nature of resistance work concerning race and gender despite changing political circumstances.
Mhlophe's voice, as a voice of resistance, continues to mark the boundaries between success and struggle for re/sisters.
This chapter considers her best-known play Have You Seen Zandile? and her collection of poetry and stories entitled Love Child. This collection re-presents her poetry and stories that appeared during apartheid in publications such as Drum and Stqffrider.
Her texts forge a connection between a love for words, voice, stories, and imagination
20The poem does not excuse racism from white women; rather it configures women as sisters. This theme is repeated in some of her other work such as the story "Dear Madam" which addresses the divisions between women caused by race and class but it also considers how women are united in their struggles against patriarchal control. 50 and resistance. Mhlophe is different from the other writers discussed in this dissertation, the rest of whom began writing only after the end of apartheid. By bridging the apartheid and post-apartheid periods, Mhlophe's work demonstrates that resistance literature can transcend its historical moment. Rather than the "political pamphleteering" that Albie Sachs and others complained of during apartheid, Mhlophe's writing can bridge the apartheid and post-apartheid periods particularly because her focus is always the same: everyday life and, in particular, the concerns of women in everyday life. In
"Say No," for example, the speaker addresses the lived experience black South Africans.
She wishes to resist men being called "boys" - a widespread phenomenon during apartheid. She does not call for armed resistance, nor does she encourage political action; she simply calls on her community to change attitudes and actions on a small-scale in order to combat large-scale oppression. Her subversive writing was never directly about apartheid laws, but rather about their effects on individuals through stratifications of gender, class, race, and location. Mhlophe makes these types of claims through song, poetry, and drama; she not only addresses socio-political problems but claims a space for the richness of voice as an antidote to those problems. Poetry, drama, stories and songs had a direct correlation to the shape of protest in apartheid South Africa, and continue to be important media for voicing resistance as the country continues to meet its challenges.
This chapter examines the resistive and subversive potential of these varieties of voices, arguing that Mhlophe's work exemplifies and actualizes voice as a tool of resistance.
Theatre as Resistance 51 Theatre provided the main medium in which voices of resistance were given expression during apartheid. The stage was most easily accessible to audiences who were either sympathetic to, or themselves part of, anti-apartheid resistance activities. Gcina
Mhlophe rose to prominence in South Africa as an actor and theatre director. Her plays were part of a tradition of protest theatre, but they took up very different themes than most. Her protest entailed telling stories of everyday life to which audiences could relate.
In doing so, she presented a more complete picture of the black experience under apartheid than artistic representations were typically allowed to render under the tight state controls of cultural material. In the 1980s, at the height of the State of Emergency in
South Africa, Mhlophe became Resident Director at the Market Theatre in Johannesburg.
This theatre was able to withstand much of the censorship of the apartheid state and routinely performed subversive plays. Her presence there, at that particular historical moment, meant that Mhlophe was squarely at the centre of a main site of cultural resistance work. Rather than creating overtly political plays, her resistance was to use the stage to highlight minimized voices as well as the complexities, joys and sadnesses of the everyday lives of her people. Her plays continue to exemplify how the personal is political, and how representing everyday life, including personal struggles, can inspire larger political movements.
In South Africa many resisters debated the relationship between theatre and politics. Critics considered a series of terms for theatrical productions which carried an 52 anti-apartheid message.21 The playwright Zakes Mda traces the historical development of theatre from "black theatre" to "protest theatre" to what he calls "theatre for resistance," and ultimately to "theatre for development" (Current Trends 257). "Protest theatre," such as the plays of Athol Fugard, addressed the oppressor rather than the oppressed, and placed the onus on the black people to prove their own humanity (Mda,
Politics 201). "Theatre for resistance" was more empowering of black actors and audiences; however, as it became more mainstream it ultimately catered to white audiences as well. Mda argues that "theatre for development" is the most effective form of theatre for social change (Current Trends 259). He claims that theatre for development is not just an "artistic product, [but] rather an effective vehicle for community dialogue utilizing the people's own performance modes, which are highly artistic in themselves and on their own terms" (Current Trends 259). In order for theatre to resist, the black voice needed to emerge more strongly so that it could be both a tool for dialogue and for expression.
African theatre traditions are deep and varied, enjoying a long history and broad audience. Theatre for development therefore draws on traditional oral performance, drumming, dancing, and music that comprise folk culture in South Africa but it deploys them in political plays. An example of this brand of theatre, Zandile draws on these traditional modes, which are by and for the people. Mhlophe empowers herself by using
21 Some critics called all protest theatre "Black" theatre, which essentialized struggle and resistance as being racially contingent, but which also articulated that black participation in theatre was in itself resistive. Keyan Tomaselli rejects the term "Black theatre" but uses "committed theatre," which he says "functions to expose and reveal, in human terms, the consequences of ideology determined by a particular politico- economic and social conjuncture. Such theatre serves to reveal ideology from the inside" (17). 53 her own voice to represent her own experience, and her plays allow her actors and audiences to do the same. In Mhlophe's plays, resistance emanates from the empowerment of the voices of, and dialogue among, the playwright, actors, and audience.
Self-expression ~ the ability to give voice to one's life in a public sphere ~ is a method of resistance. Through her dramatic performances, Mhlophe was able to radically change her life. She attained greater prominence and wealth than she could have by staying in the townships, and her plays gave voice to internal struggles that may have otherwise limited her. Have you Seen Zandile? portrays a girl raised by her grandmother
(referred to as "Gogo," the Zulu/Xhosa word for grandmother), who fosters in Zandile a love of storytelling. The start of the play depicts the bond between Zandile and her Gogo: how Gogo encourages Zandile in her studies; how she tells the child stories and teaches her songs; how she is Zandile's best friend. One day, Zandile's mother forcibly removes
Zandile from her home with her grandmother in Durban and takes her to the Eastern
Transkei. The shift from her grandmother's world of treats and stories to her mother's world of hard work and readying herself for marriage is difficult for Zandile. This transition also produces other dislocations: a geographical change from urban to rural and a linguistic change from Xhosa to Zulu. Zandile is de-centered in multiple ways. The action shifts from Zandile writing her Gogo letters in the sand, begging to be found, to her grandmother's endless searching. The title is from Gogo's repeated question to the audience: "Have you seen Zandile?" The play ends with Zandile finally finding her
Gogo's home, only to learn that Gogo recently died. The narrative then concludes, 54 without resolution, leaving Zandile and the audience with the feeling of irreconcilable loss.
The play is based on Mhlophe's own experience. She was raised by her paternal grandmother until her mother suddenly took her to the Transkei. In a country like South
Africa, where the past has such a profound impact on the present, Mhlophe's experience is a direct lesson that giving voice to pain is useful. In the artistic statement preceding the play, Mhlophe writes about self-expression, in particular after her mother's death. She writes "because my mother had passed away without the two of [them] having made peace" she needed to give voice to her experience. Writing, she says, was her "only outlet" (87). Mhlophe's experience is replicated in the action of Zandile itself. Once separated from her Gogo, Zandile writes letters to her using the only medium at her disposal: the sand. The act of writing to expel trauma reflects Mhlophe's experience in a myriad of ways; Zandile expresses her internal sadness but, more importantly, she does so by a medium that is transient. This is reflected in the stage directions:
ZANDILE is writing letters to her grandmother on the sand with a large stick. Her
hope is that the birds that fly so far will take the words she has written to her
grandmother. In this way her need to communicate with her grandmother is
expressed, and to a degree satisfied [...]. (28)
The innocence of Zandile's belief that the missing words have traveled to Gogo is deceptively simple. The fact that the words never reach their intended audience does not matter; it is the act of self-expression that heals Zandile. The directions reveal that the need for communication is met even when it is one-sided. Further, this scene calls 55 attention to its own performance. Zandile's act of self-expression mirrors Mhlophe's.
The words and actions are fleeting — once they are performed they literally disappear ~ but their healing effect remains. In the introduction to Zandile, Mhlophe argues that
"perhaps South Africans dwelt too much on writing plays dealing only with apartheid.
[...] I'm a writer because I'm a writer. I wouldn't give the apartheid architects such credit that they could claim they made me" (Statement 87). This captures the exact nature of
Mhlophe's resistance writing. She uses self-expression for personal and public healing.
One of Mhlophe's goals is to use her drama to model self-expression so that others may be inspired to express themselves as well. Under apartheid's repression, this sort of empowerment was considered very dangerous. Self-expression through theatre has both personal and political implications, and it is because Mhlophe's plays reflect what is personal that they are often seen as intensely political. Mhlophe says, "I think we need to think of it - the personal and the political - as equal all the way. Politics change every day, but the fundamental things that are important to human beings last a long, long time"
(Qtd. in Gunner, Politics 277).The conflation between the ordinary and the political is apparent when reading reviews of Zandile. Almost every article or newspaper review mentions specifically that Zandile is not political. For example, John Campbell's "The power of simple, ordinary life" demonstrates the way in which Mhlophe's "ordinary" drama has consistently been defined by what it is not:
It is not a political play. There are no new revelations of the suffering and struggle
of black South Africans. The power and immediacy stem from emphasis on
mundanities and the commonplace. But the play also powerfully shows that the 56 seeds of political activism and revolution are rooted in everyday black life, and
not just the rest of the State of Emergency. [...] Here the black experience in
South Africa is not all martyrdom, heroics and genocide. Blacks are whole
people, completely ordinary in their life and laughter. A lot like us, in fact.... (23)
The amount of attention given to the play precisely because it is "not political" exemplifies how political it is to be "apolitical."22 In empowering herself through an expression of her voice — the voice of her own experience — she both challenges racist configurations of black subjectivity but she also encourages black audience members to similarly resist such representations and define themselves by using their own voices.
Mhlophe empowers female voices alongside black voices. Many performers and critics note the sexism in the South African theatre scene. While sexism is not particular to South Africa, it is noteworthy in this context precisely because South African theatre has an international reputation for being progressive. The tradition of "protest theatre" has never effectively challenged the marginalization of women. Mhlophe, as a director, has seized some control in the arena of theatre, and is changing it from the inside by actively challenging these sexist spheres. In her theatre, black women have control and
22 This review articulates much of what is at stake in the categorizing of politics in theatre: Campbell's thinly-veiled contempt for, and dismissal of, "martyrdom, heroics and genocide," and his celebration that the black people are "a lot like us," demonstrates problematic apartheid-era reactions to political theatre. Campbell, who assumes a unified and presumably white "us" as audience for Mhlophe's drama, and whose contempt for what he terms "political," belies his inability to confront the intense political situation that frames his work; however, this also highlights Mhlophe's power. 23 Women are cast as performers but are rarely playwrights or directors. This produces both a silencing of the female perspective and a subjugation of female performers to male direction. In a recent article in City Press news, Khuthala Nandipha exposes this on-going problem: "women performers in South Africa say their marginalization and lack of confidence in their abilities is making it difficult to reach the next level [...] the world of theatre is still dominated by men" ("Female actors still looking on from the curtains of the stage" 33). This objectification does not only happen on stage: the article cites a number of female performers who complain of sexual harassment as endemic to the theatre scene. 57 empower other women. In Upstaging Big Daddy: Directing Theatre as though Gender and Race Matter, Ellen Donkin and Susan Clement note the sense of control implicit in the word "director." They argue that feminist directors, given the opportunity to interpret, subvert, control, and rename text, have a direct impact on the critical consciousness of performers and audience members. Indeed, theatre cannot tell someone what to think, but it can certainly tell them what to think about. Mhlophe stays in theatre for this reason: "I pull out and get sucked in again because there aren't enough black female directors in this industry. It's a major problem. I keep going because I am needed" (Qtd. in Nandipha
33). It is not just the work she produces but the act of producing it that is activist. The act of expressing oneself and one's voice, because of the impact on others as Donkin and
Clement describe, unites the empowerment of self with the empowerment of others.
Mhlophe has made repeated claims about the lack of black women's voices in South
African theatre, and how it may be ameliorated through coalitional cultural production:
Directing is something that women have to learn; necessity should drive us to a
point where black women know they've got to get in there and do it themselves.
[...] I know that women sometimes get very nervous just to write a script, never
mind to direct it. But I think that one of the things that those of us should do who
have gotten to that stage is to empower others. Maybe I could write a script and
ask a sister who has the knowledge and experience in theatre to co-direct with me.
(Gunner, Politics 283-4)
Collaboration between actors and directors links self-expression with community empowerment. This is part of Mda's definition of "theatre for development." By 58 workshopping, creating, and performing a piece of drama, the actors involve themselves in subversive representations. Under apartheid, this was often about resisting the apartheid government's construction of blackness. In Mhlophe's plays, this dynamic is bolstered by an active resistance to gender construction and the rigidity of gender roles.
Not only are actors empowered by this creative process, but the dynamics of theatre production are in themselves contrary to the divide and conquer mentality of apartheid. The Market Theatre was one of the few venues through which both black and white performers and writers could collaborate.24 These collaborations often led to plays that were known to be progressive and, although the theatre was still subject to the apartheid censors, it was less regulated than other artistic venues and mediums. Partly this is because the action on stage is so immediate. Yvonne Banning notes that "the theatre really gave a public voice, or a voice to the public." Also, even if a work had been censored, an actor could "say things in the heat of the moment and then say 'oh, I wasn't supposed to say that, it was just a slip'" (Qtd. in Goodman 9). This "public voice" fostered collaboration across racial lines which subverted the goals of "apartness" so heavily pursued by the apartheid state. The actors were empowering themselves with the ultimate goal of empowering their audiences and broader communities as well.
Mhlophe's plays do not proselytize a political message to their audiences; however, she does use some of the techniques of political theatre in order to make social critiques, particularly about gender. The impact on her audiences is a result of the blending of the personal and political that theatre makes possible; the audience is
24 The Space Theatre in Cape Town was another. 59 entranced by a story to which they can relate, while understanding the political apparatuses which engender those personal struggles. For example, her collaboration with
Janet Suzman entitled The Good Woman ofSharkville adapts Brecht's Good Person of
Setzuan with a view to representing the texture of South African life. While Brecht's
"good person" is a comment on gender — the female protagonist must adopt a male alter ego ~ Suzman and Mhlophe recontextualize the gender issues for South Africa. The play asks what it means to be a "good woman" in a violent and divided state. In Sharkville (an obvious play on Sharpeville, site of the 1960 massacre) race and gender collide with
Brecht's view of class. With respect to this chapter, it is important to note that, in their adaptation, Mhlophe and Suzman changed the music "much more forcefully into protest song" and "expanded the elements of fairy tale" (Breitinger 214-216), thus incorporating oral and female traditions into protest theatre.
Mhlophe uses Brechtian techniques towards transformative theatre, but adds a female-centred voice to the resistive expression. Mhlophe's plays are Brechtian in three ways: the use of complete scenes to tell a story; the Verfremdungseffekt (alienation- effect); and agitprop. Brecht's theory of "epic theatre" argues that each scene in a play should function as a discrete work in and of itself (Brecht 121), and Zandile is comprised of scenes which each tell their own story. The drama unfolds through these snapshots of everyday life, having an impact on self-expression and audience effect. Brecht's
Alienation-effect ensures that audiences maintain an analytical distance. Brecht does not wish to subsume audiences in a theatrical world; rather, he seeks to highlight their active
25 There is a broader discussion of orality and children's tales below. 60 participation in a drama that is both part of, and reflective of, the life around them
(Brecht 120). Brecht's plays are a call to action. Mhlophe achieves both: the story of
Zandile is able to draw audiences in, producing cathartic effects, yet she also uses the
Alienation-effect towards Brechtian ends. Once Zandile is kidnapped, Gogo asks the audience directly "Have you seen Zandile?" (29). The line recalls the title of the play and therefore calls attention to the theatrical nature of performance. Further, it implicates the audience as witnesses in the dramatic narrative thus creating a sense of responsibility. We know where Zandile is, yet we are powerless to help Gogo find her. Marcia Blumberg writes:
Perhaps, at this moment, the dilemma for the spectator, who finds herself in a
morally untenable situation, particularly replicates but also exposes the difference
in the situations of many South Africans, who knew to a greater or lesser degree
about the intolerable conditions and injustice of apartheid, yet were complicitous
in their silence and inaction. ("Revaluing" 144)
Zandile, as a metaphor for the many displaced and dislocated children produced by apartheid dispersals and divisions, reminds the audience that their silence in the theatre replicates their silence elsewhere. Her answer to that silence is to help raise marginalized voices.
The Alienation-effect is connected to Brecht's theory of agitprop, that is, theatre that was meant to disseminate ideas and agitate people into action. Brecht uses agitprop to evoke class consciousness and revolution. Mhlophe uses agitprop techniques to agitate action toward several issues of equity. She depicts how the intersections of race, gender, 61 class, and location produce inequality regardless of who is in power. Mda dislikes agitprop because he feels it is theatre for the people instead of by the people (Current
Trends 260), yet in Zandile it is both. Mhlophe's drama continues to be subversive even after the end of apartheid because she illustrates that a rural, black, young woman continues to struggle. Her agitprop is not directed at a particular government or politician, or even political system, but at the broader structures of power that have remained in place despite large-scale political change. For example, Zandile frequently refers to the expectations of girl/womanhood. Gogo makes it clear that she has high expectations of
Zandile: "She is a really clever little girl. She could become a doctor, or a lawyer or an accountant. She could be anything" (7). Lulama, Zandile's mother, despite being younger than Gogo, subscribes to more traditional ideas of gender. Partly this is because of the politics of location: Lulama lives in the rural Transkei, where gender roles embedded in traditional Xhosa culture have remained more rigid. Zandile tells Lulama that she wants to become a teacher, and Lulama replies "Not here. You have to work outside here, where the men can see you" (31). Because Lulama wants Zandile to be seen by potential husbands, she is literally put on display. This act of display, a performance within the performance, draws attention to the commodification of girlhood in rural South Africa in accordance with the patriarchal marriage/family structure.
Elin Diamond's Unmaking Mimesis is useful in explaining how Mhlophe's use of
Brechtian theatre functions. Diamond argues that feminist theatre uses Brechtian techniques in order to critique unequal constructions of gender. She writes: 62 The cornerstone of Brecht's theory is the Verfremdungseffekt, the technique of
defamiliarizing a word, an idea, a gesture so as to enable the spectator to see or
hear it afresh. This disrupts the conventional resemblance between the
performer's body and object, or character, to which it refers. This is why gender
critique in the theater can be so powerful. (45)
Thus Mhlophe's presentation of life for a girl in the Transkei - with the repeated actions of hoeing land, building dung huts, completing daily chores etc. in a very public performance of femininity and obedience ~ defamiliarizes such domestic tasks in order to prompt audiences to question why these became associated with life for girls and how tradition is used as a means of policing gender norms and roles. Diamond continues: "a feminist practice that seeks to expose or mock the structures of gender, to reveal gender- as-appearance, as the effect, not the precondition, of regulatory practices, usually uses some version of the Brechtian A-effect" (46). Thus Mhlophe's depiction of Zandile working in the yard, in particular to be seen, highlights the audience's gaze on the stage;
Zandile is on display for the rich boys in her community, as well as for the audience. This overt depiction of girl-as-commodity, as working mainly for the sake of the appearance of being hard-working, allows the audience to understand their gaze at Zandile as part of a societal condition that objectifies girls. Mhlophe uses the performativity of acting as a way of highlighting the performativity of gender.
26 Diamond links her discussion of the A-effect in feminist theatre to Judith Butler's theories on gender performativity. Butler clearly marks the distinction between performance, such as theatre, and performativity, which functions more like a simulacrum, as a copy for which there is no original. Gender performativity, such as in this scene in Zandile, unites the two. Gender performativity as part of a staged production therefore becomes a performance of performativity. Diamond claims: 63 David Coplan argues that theatre can, through "representing people's interests, overcoming] their negative self-images, and asserting] their grievances and aspirations" contribute to a "total liberation process" (7). He claims "this is a theatre of self- realization where Africans can go and see themselves and their environment presented larger than life on stage" (17). Coplan calls this type of theatre "popular" theatre - not because it enjoys wide-scale commercial success, but because it speaks to an audience that is not necessarily of the elite. Stuart Hall's work on "the popular arts" is connected here because he posits that popular art and theatre render the "audience-as-community"
(66). Mhlophe's drama uses self-expression to connect with others who are thereby validated. We have seen how her work has empowered herself, her actors, and her audience. Both the drama she produces and the process by which it is created contribute to her theatre of resistance.
What Mhlophe is resisting goes beyond racial and gender politics. Her theatre, by inserting narratives and performances that disrupt the logic of apartheid and sexism/racism more broadly, becomes a sphere within which varied and on-going types of resistance are made possible. Joanne Tompkins's Unsettling Space: Contestations in
Contemporary Australian Theatre has applications for South African theatre's own
When performativity materializes as performance in that risky and dangerous negotiation between a doing (a reiteration of norms) and a thing done (discursive conventions that frame our interpretations), between someone's body and the conventions of embodiment, we have access to cultural meanings and critique. Performativity, I would suggest, must be rooted in the materiality and historical density of performance. (2) 27 Mhlophe's most important work in terms of impact is likely her storytelling group Zanendaba (Tell me a Story), which teaches black women to write and perform the stories of their lives. She empowers the voices of these women both inside and outside the structures of the theatre. Because I see Zanendaba as crucial to her work as a re/sister, I discuss it in the section about re/sistering to come. 64 ability to "unsettle space." Her view is that colonialism functions through a usurpation and control of space and it is this which theatre can disrupt. Using theatre space to create new imaginary spaces, and also to speak to people in a variety of "locations" (a word that resonates, in South Africa, with the "locations" and townships to which people were forcibly moved), theatre challenges strict spatial configurations. Colonialism functions through its "settlers," and Tompkins describes how theatre can "unsettle" colonial perceptions of power and history (6). Therefore, she writes,"Unsettling Space analyses the ways in which theatre resists the practice of disremembering" (18). Theatre is also able to transform memory into stories that are accessible for public viewing. This reconfigured notion of space as a tactical theatrical space is one where people can join in creating narratives that disrupt the histories that elide them.
In Mhlophe's drama, space is unsettled through stories. In uncertain "locations," one's voice is one's only constant. Tompkins links space with subjectivity. She argues that as theatre productions "unsettle space," their project becomes "staging the geographies of identity" (140). Zandile demonstrates how identity is tied to space: her dislocation as a result of forced relocation to a rural environment, and the accompanying culture shock, redefines her. The tension between identity and space is about being an
"outsider." However, feeling like an outsider means that one is firmly within the borders of the territory in question; to be considered an outsider one must be within the discursive terrain. Edward Said posits that "just as none of us is outside or beyond geography, none of us is completely free from the struggle over geography. That struggle is complex and interesting because it is not only about soldiers and cannons but also about ideas, about 65 forms, about images and imaginings" (7).There is an inextricable link between where one is and who one is (or who one becomes). Location produces spatial identity, which can shift and is in flux, while it connects peoples to land.
Zandile, so informed by the dislocations and divides between the rural and the urban, and between competing identities that are rooted in those separate spaces, has to find a home in something more ephemeral than geography. Her stories become that home for her, and the stage on which they are performed replicates that locus for the audience.
The stage becomes a space in which identities can be explored, critiqued, assumed, and abandoned. Julie Holledge and Joanne Tompkins argue that the space of the theatre proves Michel de Certeau's assertion that "spatial practices in fact secretly structure the determining conditions of social life" (96). They suggest that "theatre as a social space encompasses both the physicality of the theatre building and the mental spaces by which the audience structures meaning" (89). In analyzing Zandile, they assert that the play links the idea of "home" with spatial dislocation. They describe home as "both the private home and the more 'public' home of geo-political space to which one feels allied" (87).
Zandile and Gogo both travel, thus the notion of "home" becomes fractured several times. For both Zandile and Gogo stories become the site of their sanctuary. And stories can happen anywhere.
The narrative of dislocation occurs in folk tale form early on in the play. Gogo tells Zandile a folk tale about a woman who has to live on the moon with her daughter.
28 For more of this in the realm of theatre see Una Chudhuri's Staging Place: the Geography of Modern Drama. 66 They are exiled there because the mother contravenes village law by going out to chop firewood on a Sunday. Aware of potential punishment, she does it in order to care for her child. Gogo adds that the "father and grandmother never had the pleasure of watching the baby grow [...]" (14). This story parallels Zandile's later experience of being kidnapped by her mother. Separated from her father and from her beloved Gogo, she experiences a dislocation that is both geographic and psychic; she loses a sense of who she is. All she has left of her Gogo are stories like the one of the woman on the moon. Although her physical space is "unsettled" the stories provide a grounding that her geographic location cannot. 29
The metaphors of unsettled space continue throughout the play to demonstrate that narrative is the only home that Zandile can ultimately inhabit. The last scene of the play, entitled "Zandile finds Gogo's suitcase," depicts the finality of Zandile and Gogo's separation. Zandile learns of her grandmother's death and is given the suitcase Gogo kept for her. The final stage direction notes that, as she opens the suitcase, Zandile is "very separated from her surroundings" (62). The image of the suitcase signifies the ultimate dislocation she experiences. She spends so long trying to relocate her "home" only to discover that she no longer belongs there. Holledge and Tompkins understand the suitcase differently than I do. They write, "[Zandile] is given Gogo's suitcase which becomes the tangible representation of memory space that is central to Zandile's life. She
29 Mda argues that the literature of social action deploys the changing relationship to landscapes in literature. As people have been forcibly moved and removed, their ties to the land have been replaced by a narrative grounding instead. The literary landscape is able to ameliorate some of the dislocation experienced in South Africa (Pink Mountain). 67 attempts to re-capture home via letters and stories but it is not until she holds her grandmother's suitcase that she can firmly lay claim to the memory space by means of this tangible and symbolic object" (101).30 Their view is that the suitcase anchors Zandile by virtue of being tangible, which is something the stories cannot do. I argue the opposite: Zandile's stories enabled her to retain a connection with her Gogo despite her separation. The old woman who gives Zandile the suitcase tells Zandile that her Gogo
"told me so many stories about you" (61), which signifies Zandile's continued presence in her Gogo's life, and in her former home. The suitcase is filled with dresses that Gogo was keeping for Zandile. These remnants of a girlhood, which Zandile has long outgrown, demonstrate the finality of their separation and dislocation. Marcia Blumberg agrees: "this bag and its contents become an overdetermined signifier for their once- loving relationship and its loss, as well as a repository for her childhood dreams"
("Revaluing" 144). On the other hand, the stories are able to bridge the gap between time and space that divided Zandile and her Gogo, precisely because of their intangibility.31
The dramatic action of Zandile hugging the too-small dresses symbolizes her extreme loss. The narrative arc of the play as a whole, however, highlights how Zandile (and
Mhlophe through her) is able to process this loss through storytelling.
30 Holledge and Tompkins do, importantly, point out the historical significance of the suitcase as symbol in South Africa. It reminds the audience of forced relocations, migrant labour, and other spatial dislocations caused by apartheid (104). 31 Mhlophe comments that Zandile "was born out of looking back at everything, totally everything, and putting it all down on paper, no matter how painful, no matter how much I thought I had buried in a suitcase" (Qtd. in Walder 36). Mhlophe returns to the metaphor of the suitcase as one of psychic repression. The issue of memory is demonstrative of the importance of stories, and their role in narrative recovery. 68 The medium of theatre empowers writer/director, actor, and audience. Theatre has been an important tool of resistance in South Africa, called a medium of change
(Fuchs and Davis), intervention (Walder and Blumberg), and struggle (Bozzoli).
Mhlophe's drama expands what we may conceive of as resistance theatre by highlighting the importance of voicing the experiences of everyday life and one's personal narrative within the context of political events. Zandile demonstrates how storytelling interweaves personal struggles with political ones, and how giving voice to those struggles can effect healing. The success of the play is due to these thematic concerns but even more so to their delivery through poetry and song. Theatre is but one part of a larger oral tradition that comprises the rhythm of resistance in South Africa; it is part of a trajectory of speaking and singing struggle.32
Storytelling and Oralitv
Mhlophe's drama incorporates elements of traditional oral culture such as the folk tales Gogo tells Zandile, praise poetry, and folk song. Using oral traditions on stage is an act of postcolonial resistance; it challenges the dominant Western voice in artistic representations and usurps it with a multitude of voices ~ some traditional, some modern
32 Mhlophe continues to break through gender and racial boundaries. At a show in Zimbabwe she told a rowdy crowd (comprised of MPs and other influential male figures) to be quiet. This created enough of an outcry that she was asked to step down as Resident Director at the Market Theatre. She looks back on the affair as a blessing: "If they hadn't kicked me out, I would've still been under their wing" (Qtd. in Walder 38). She has since used various stages to speak out against gender discrimination and violence. 69 ~ which allow a variety of discourses to emerge. In their analysis of "post-colonial drama," Helen Gilbert and Joanne Tompkins note:
In most non-literate communities, [...] the story-teller relayed the community's
history often in verse form, as an entertainment and an educational device.
Frequently, s/he would augment the narrative with dramatic action, audience
interaction, dance, song, and /or music of some description. This story-telling
tradition transfers easily to the stage since its codes and conventions as a mode of
communication are already highly theatrical. (126)
Using modes of storytelling and oral performance on stage allows for multiple views of history to be heard. Postcolonial theatre, in incorporating oral traditions, a variety of indigenous languages, traditional songs, and traditional performance styles, encompasses what Gilbert and Tompkins call "the languages of resistance" (164) on stage.
Zandile is written mainly in English but includes both Xhosa and Zulu. The play begins with Zandile singing a children's song in Zulu. This is the first of many examples of untranslated Zulu and Xhosa in the text. These languages, mixed seamlessly into the mostly English dialogue, remind constantly of the multi-lingual multiplicity of identities from which Zandile comes. Their appearance in the play is typically in the form of songs or poetry, highlighting that oral culture is not merely spoken, and encapsulating what I am calling "voices of resistance." The play distances itself from white "protest theatre," which used English to reach the white elites in South Africa; rather, it speaks directly to
33 This is a reference to Zog Wicomb's article "To Hear a Variety of Discourses" in M.J. Daymond's collection South African Feminisms. Wicomb urges for a plurality of voices in order to challenge both racism and sexism. 70 black audiences through these languages. Mhlophe has said that "language should be something that should be respected" (Gunner, Politics 273). She observes that other
South African plays insert smatterings of African languages, but "switch over to English when they want to speak about the serious things" (273). Mhlophe wants her plays to be understood, and does not use English as simply the language of the oppressor; she incorporates it as one of a variety of tongues in order to highlight the multiplicity of voices inherent in her productions. She uses the mode of theatre to engage with a larger heritage of oral culture. Mhlophe's blending of languages is a form of "abrogation and appropriation" (Ashcroft et al. 37), a resistive approach which uses colonial languages for decolonizing purposes. For Mhlophe, it is part of mixing traditions, forms, aesthetics, and tools for self and cultural expression.34 Mhlophe's syncretism is part of her cultural translation and transformation. She produces stories, poetry, and drama that are at once
"traditional," in terms of connecting with an oral tradition or indigenous language, and subversive of tradition in terms of content or changes in style. She transforms the form in order to transform the ideas they encapsulate.
Mhlophe celebrates oral tradition and culture because it is through this culture that she first discovered her own voice. The first piece in Love Child is "Transforming
Moments" in which she describes being a high school student with low self-esteem and no sense of purpose. A minister hears Mhlophe sing and calls her voice "resonant;" this is the first time she realizes that she likes her voice (4). The word "resonant," implying both a richness of sound and a lasting effect, encapsulates Mhlophe's attraction to voice, song,
34 For a lengthier discussion of language mixing as resistance see chapter four. 71 and story as ways of having an impact. As she comes to love herself, through discovering the power of words, she finds that others are attracted to her voice as a result of that power as well. Shortly after the moment with the minister she hears a praise poet perform (praise poets, or imbongi in Xhosa, are traditional speakers for the community).
After Mhlophe hears this poet, she begins to write poems of her own. She falls in love with her ability to use words and finds that her self-esteem improves. She says, "My voice sounded like it was a special voice, made specially to recite poems with dignity.
Resonant - was that it? [...] A woman praise poet - I'd never heard of one, but what did it matter? I could be the first one!" (8). "Transforming Moments" signals Mhlophe's personal transformation through traditional poetry, but also traditional poetry's transformation from male-dominated to multi-valent, from specific in purpose to a tool of widespread resistance. From that time on Mhlophe has used the Xhosa and Zulu traditions of orality and storytelling to create personal and social transformation.
The tradition of Izibongi (praise poetry) in Xhosa has a long history. Jeff Opland and A.C. Jordan were the first scholars to analyze the structure and traditional uses of izibongi. A.C. Jordan writes "to the Bantu-speaking Southern Africans, the praise-poem is their proudest artistic possession. It is in this genre that the greatest possibilities of a
Bantu language as a medium of literary expression are to be found" (21). Opland's study is interested in orality - how the oral form is used as a carrier of culture. He refers to
Walter Ong's research for his Orality and Literacy to describe how Xhosa oral poetry relies on formulaic expression and rhythm so that it is more easily remembered (182).
Opland notes that these praise poems, often historical in content, create a standardization 72 of themes so that Xhosa oral history remains consistent regardless of who may be the teller (189). He makes judgments about the fixity of oral culture and, while some of his findings have merit, he is perhaps too quick to assume oral culture is stagnant culture.
Opland acknowledges that there are many "agents of change operating on the Xhosa tradition of oral poetry" but he sees this as a negative aspect. He asks: "once a tradition changes, does it not cease to be a tradition?" (233-234). The "tradition" itself, however, is a product of its own process of change over time. Isabel Hofmeyr suggests that critics have tended to view oral culture as stagnant, and they have either ignored or bemoaned any changes or inconsistencies they find, because they hold to an idea of "purity" that comes from stereotypical ideas they map onto indigeneity (Hofmeyr, "Wailing" 16).
Prior to European contact oral culture had traditional and core elements, as well as its own complexities, and it has continued to evolve. Mhlophe's intervention into praise poetry affirms both the importance of tradition and also the importance of fluidity within that tradition.
Opland's examples of praise poetry highlight the fact that they often encode patriarchal and sexist cultural constructs. He quotes one of the praise poets he interviewed; this poet demonstrates that praise poetry has been a form used by men to praise other men: "never have I heard a man, who is a coward, [sung] with praises. The man who runs from a fight is looked upon as a woman, and women have no praises.
Those who are praised are men and boys, bulls, oxen, cows, horses, dogs, and certain birds" (35). According to this praise poet, women clearly have diminished importance.
Men, boys, and animals may receive praise but women may not. The sexism inherent in 73 praise poetry is also evident in many other poems and stories. In Harold Scheub's study, entitled The Xhosa Ntsomi, he translates stories with titles such as: "A Woman is
Rejected because she is Barren," "A Man Puts a Girl into a Bag," "A Boy Murders his
Sister," "A Woman Attempts to Destroy her Co-wife" etc. The gender codes within these stories seem rather obviously misogynistic. In rare examples there is some sense of gender play and role reversal. One story, for example, is entitled "A Boy Becomes
Pregnant and Bears a Child" but overall the gender relationships and roles are rigid.
Because women could not be praise poets, the women that appear in these stories are described from a male perspective. The politics of female representation in oral culture are therefore problematic.
Mhlophe uses the form of praise poetry to attack the sexism historically associated with it. Hers is not an entirely new intervention into the medium of praise poetry, but it is an important contribution to it. Isabel Hofmeyr's study of praise poetry,
We Spend Our Years as a Tale that is Told, suggests that women found ways to participate in this oral culture, but did so in private and domestic spaces (25).35 Similarly,
Harold Scheub says that often Xhosa farm women became amateur ntsomi (singer of tales) by joining with a group of other women and coming up with tales together (6,44).
Mhlophe is therefore not the first female praise poet, but she is one of the first to bring her praise poetry to a public stage. She is, in drawing on her Xhosa oral tradition, simultaneously traditional and subversive of that tradition.
35 For more on the history of women as praise poets see Liz Gunner's "Songs of Innocence and Experience: Women as Composers and Performers of 'Izibongo', Zulu Praise Poetry." 74 Mhlophe challenges the male-centred aspect of the tradition of praise poetry. In
"Transforming Moments" she voices this challenge. Elsewhere, she demonstrates it. In
Zandile, Zandile writes and performs a traditional Xhosa praise poem for a teacher who is retiring. Xhosa audiences would know this to be a modern intervention into a traditional form. Having a girl perform a praise poem contravenes the traditional patriarchy of the praise poet culture. It also, however, highlights the value placed on traditional oral forms in modern contexts. Zandile's praise poem is representative of syncretism both linguistically and aesthetically. Mhlophe inserts the traditional Xhosa izibongo into a
Western-style play, thus blending traditional and modern (and Xhosa and English) performance modes. Mhlophe wrote the poem in Xhosa but provides a translation in the script, with stage directions allowing for it to be performed in English or Xhosa, depending on the language of the audience. The praise poem is simultaneously traditional and untraditional. It bestows praise on a male figure of authority but it finds ways of highlighting the importance of women as well. The translation of the poem begins:
"women whose breasts can feed even those who are across the river. To you, bullets are nothing to fear" (51). This seems bizarre in a praise poem intended for a male teacher, particularly when he is the only male character in the play (he is assumed to be part of
Zandile's audience, but never physically appears on stage). The overtly woman-centred lines make sense because of the staging of the play. The ostensible addressee, the teacher, is eclipsed by the simultaneous action on stage. The spotlight shifts from Zandile's performance to Gogo searching for her, and in this way Zandile's words in the poem are spliced with Gogo's image. After Gogo is featured, the praise poem continues: "You 75 stand tall on the long sticks that are your hard work and achievements. You are the head full of knowledge [....] Before you came we had only heard rumours about what education can be" (53). The praise poem in Zandile affirms the importance of education and, although she is praising her male teacher whom she respects, Gogo is simultaneously exalted. Mhlophe's use of praise poetry therefore highlights that women can subvert a traditional mode to honour other women, and that the knowledges produced by these women are honourable as well.
Gogo's presence, even when Zandile cannot see her, unites them in the act of performance. Storytelling is Zandile's way to be close to her grandmother, even though they are apart. Praise poetry is a male tradition but storytelling has a distinctly feminine association. Hofmeyr argues that "one of the most enduring stereotypes in Southern
African oral literary studies is that of the woman-as-storyteller. Almost invariably a grandmother, preferably seated in the vicinity of a fire, this figure has dominated virtually all local research into oral narrative" (Spend Our Years 24). Hofmeyr argues that these domestic oral tales serve an equally important function as praise poetry, but they have not always been granted the same status by Xhosa culture or by the Western critics studying it. Zandile's praise poem demonstrates the power and importance women have had as carriers of culture through folk tales and stories, and she links these oral modes of domestic storytelling and praise poetry, thereby highlighting the feminist transformations that have been made possible by women passing on oral cultural traditions.36
36 Mhlophe said in an interview: "oral storytelling is usually an art transferred from generation to generation. Grandmothers tell stories to their grandchildren around the fire at night and children fight for 76 In other contexts Mhlophe continues to usurp and reinvent praise poetry as a medium for feminist discourse. Mhlophe's "A Praise to our Mothers" uses the form of the traditional praise poem to honour women.37 The poem is for "the women of my country/ who have worked throughout their lives/ not for themselves but for the very life of all Africans" {Love Child 26), whereupon she names several famous activists. She praises, "The Lilian Ngoyis, the Victoria Mxenges/ The Ruth Firsts [...] the Winnie
TO Mandelas" (26). She includes political freedom fighters and "the ones who sell oranges and potatoes/ so that their children can eat and learn" (26). She includes ordinary women with those who have made an impression on South African history. From the perspective of how her use of praise poetry functions as an act of re/sistering, it is especially important that she mentions both black and white women. Ruth First was a white anti- apartheid activist, the rest are black women. In the poem they are granted equal praise.
The poem begins with an image of the speaker wearing "beads around my neck [...] and a soft easy flowing dress with the colours of Africa" (26) who stands on a hill to praise these women. The image is stereotypically African, yet it is being used to praise women who were typically ignored by the African praise traditions. The inclusion of these
space closer to her so that they could hear everything she says" (Qtd. in Goodman 11). Mhlophe values these private storytelling moments and the ones that occur on the public stage. This article describes Mhlophe building a library to honour her grandmother in rural Mpumalanga. The trope of the Gogo by the fire becomes part of a larger project of encouraging both oral storytelling and literacy for new generations. The fact that the library will contain written materials shows that traditional storytelling modes continue to evolve. Their orality can sometimes be translated into writing, thus increasing their accessibility. These are some of the myriad ways Mhlophe both retains and transforms tradition. 37 This poem is published in Love Child as well as several anthologies. One can also watch Mhlophe perform it (which affords a more powerful experience) in the film Songologo. 8 Note the intercultural list of female anti-apartheid activists included here. These are the same women who organized the women's march of 1956 which I discuss below. diverse women in the poem makes a statement about "the colours of Africa" and how women come together to comprise them.
Mhlophe metaphorically grounds female praise poets in the African literary and geographical landscape. Just as her drama unsettles space through her use of voice, her praise poetry also contains a spatial dimension. The image of the female praise poet standing on a hill, rooting herself in the land, is itself reflective of the method by which women entered into praise poetry. Isabel Hofineyr notes that "the courtyards that hosted male storytelling have disappeared with the large-scale forced removals of the 1960s"
{Spend Our Years 37) which is how the "tradition" of the female storyteller emerges.
This is a positive effect of a very harmful process. Oral traditions were all but destroyed with the spatial dislocations caused by apartheid. Hofmeyr describes the relationship between the land and memory: "as a number of commentators on oral tradition have noted, oral memory has a close mnemonic relationship with place and location, and in a variety of societies people often 'bank' information in the landscape" (Spend Our Years
160).39 Liz Gunner similarly argues that praise poetry traditions are so connected with the land that the poems do not make sense once dislocated ("Names" 118). She argues, however, that traditional songs can be used towards reclamation. Gunner writes that contemporary praise songs "create an integrated and positive self-concept in the face of displacement, fragmentation and dehumanization. The singers exist out of place, yet place, in terms of a fixed point, particularly of return, is central to their songs" ("Names"
39 See Zakes Mda's similar comments above on the relationship between geography and literature in the realm of theatre. 78 124). Women as praise poets are similarly out of place in, but re-rooting, the oral tradition.40 Mhlophe's intervention, via the figure of the female African praise poet, is to both use and change the tradition so that women may assume their place in public discourse without sacrificing the importance of their domestic contribution.41
Praise poets are also known as praise singers in traditional Xhosa culture. The poems are both spoken and sung, combining oral narrative with a rhythmic element. In
Zandile, the praise poetry actualizes how the use of voice can garner power. The praise poetry scene stands apart from the rest of the play because of the impact of Zandile's booming, rhythmic voice. The stage directions note that Zandile gets louder as the poem progresses (52), thus marking a huge difference between most of the soft-spoken dialogue and folk song of the rest of the play. The striking sound of the poem demonstrates the power of the speaker much more than her object of praise. This power helps to secure the praise poet's societal influence. Historically, imbongi sang "upon" chiefs in the clan, meaning they praised the chief publicly in order to affirm his power.
40 Space and geography are important features of resistance writing. Many critics describe how imperialism functions cartographically - see Said, McClintock (28) and, in the South African context, Louise Bethlehem's excellent "The Drift to the Map" (Skin Tight 21). There is research on how maps relate to identity, through what Fredric Jameson terms "cognitive mapping," and through gender such as in Elizabeth Grosz's "body maps." A useful South African example of how geography produces identity is Andre Brink's Mapmakers: Writing in a State of Siege, which links writing, resistance, space, and mapping. 41 Much of Mhlophe's writing reflects this potential resistance in dislocation. Mhlophe's poems about dislocation fiercely condemn the forced removals but also assert that the cultures the locations were meant to destroy persist. In the short prose piece "My father," Mhlophe praises the determination of her father who "refuses to move from the house he built with his own hands, where he planted trees, built a strong stone wall for a cattle kraal" (Love Child 48). During the forced removals he remained - an act of resistance against apartheid's dominion over space. The policy of apartness functioned through the ability to separate peoples geographically. Mhlophe's father, in resisting moving, was resisting the logic that allowed control to be executed through space. In her story "Crocodile Spirit", Mhlophe similarly writes of "Old man Ngwenya," a man whose house was bulldozed but who refused to leave. He shouts the names of the ancestors into the air (58), once again reflecting the impulse to express, orally and vocally, the loss of the land. This story highlights the healing power of voice. 79 The praise, however, often contained political critique as well. The praise poet's role was to advise and critique the chief in order to promote decisions that were to the benefit of the greater community. Opland notes that "praise" in the context of praise poetry does not mean flattery but rather "both praise and censure as twin aspects of truth telling" (68).
Being in a position to critique the chief meant the imbongi had a fair amount of power:
"The imbongi must be free to tell the truth as he sees it: His poetic assessment of the chief is not blindly adulatory. He has the ability to inspire strong emotions and also to sway opinion. If he criticizes excesses in the behaviour of his chief, he also exhorts his audiences to mend their errant ways. [...] His is a central role in society" (68). The dual nature of the praise poet ~ to both praise and censure - resonates with Mhlophe's work.
Her poems use the power of voice for both social expression and critique.
Orality in South Africa continues to have an important impact on politics and culture. Duncan Brown suggests that "as a form of expression, praise poetry has proved itself to be endlessly adaptable to changing circumstances [...] there appears to be a real and continuing role for izibongo to advise, to criticize, and to deliver praise in modern circumstances [...] the praise poem offers us the opportunity to consider the challenge of a unique form of social and aesthetic expression" (Oral Literature 115).42 Recent South
African politicians still use praise poets at inaugurations and other important events.
Nelson Mandela began this new application for praise poets at the state level. The Mail
42 The impact of poetry, just as the impact of theatre in the section above, is difficult to measure. One cannot be certain that "speaking out" has any concrete impact on social processes. The connection between poetry and politics is elusive. In his discussion on "the poetry of commitment in South Africa" Jacques Alvarez-Pereyre comments that "poetry cannot, it is quite true, have any direct influence on events, but it can do a great deal to help a people to discover its own spirit. Poetry is a dazzling short-cut which, by its brevity and its power of condensation, goes straight to the heart of a people" (266). 80 and Guardian article "From Protest to Praise" describes the trend of turning resistance poetry into praise poetry: often the same words and tunes are used to celebrate the ANC now that apartheid resistance has been successful. Mhlophe's poetry continues to engage with the traditional uses for praise poetry — to praise and censure ~ yet it also continues to trouble the tradition by adding her voice and moving women's concerns from margin to centre.43
The Bones of Memory: Poetry and the TRC
Mhlophe's use of orality and voice had practical implications at the Truth and
Reconciliation Commission (TRC). Mhlophe was asked to perform some of her poetry at the TRC's special women's hearings. The TRC's focus on telling stories, memory, and healing mirrors Mhlophe's own work. In South Africa the fall of apartheid was a time of great joy, but also of great uncertainty. The scale of suffering and oppression was so large that healing was a tremendous undertaking. South Africa famously attempted to reconcile through truth and sharing, as opposed to retributive justice. Instead of punishing those responsible for apartheid and its attendant oppression, Nelson Mandela appointed
Archbishop Desmond Tutu to chair the commission, with the goal of allowing both victims and perpetrators to give voice to their experiences of apartheid. The idea was that in making these experiences cohere into a national memory, a "truth" about apartheid,
South Africans could move on. Thus the TRC's vision was that through testimony, a
43 In "Leader Remember", a praise poem about Nelson Mandela, Mhlophe reminds the leader that though his success is immeasurable there is still more work to do, particularly on women's issues. See the section below for a more detailed discussion of the poem. All of Mhlophe's poems cited here are available in Love Child. 81 narrativizing of memory, a shared collective history would emerge which would heal the wounds of apartheid.44
Many critics have approached the topics of memory and narrative in relation to trauma. Much of this research develops from Holocaust studies. The Holocaust resonates with apartheid because both involved oppression on a large-scale, backed by the violent machinations of the state. Both caused immense trauma to a large population. Of course there were differences, and it is not my intention to conflate the Holocaust with apartheid; however, much of the research on Holocaust victims dealing with trauma is relevant to the South African context. One of the most well-known psychoanalytic critics to analyze
Holocaust stories is Shoshana Felman. Felman has done extensive research on how literature provides a forum for the representation of the psyche. Felman's awareness of both psychoanalysis and literature allows her to discuss ways in which the narrativizing of experience allows victims to deal with trauma.45 A prominent application of psychoanalytic theory to literature is Felman's co-authored work with Dori Laub,
Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis and History. Felman and
Laub analyze case examples and literary examples to demonstrate the ways in which the
"witness" functions in both historical testimony and literary texts.
One of the problems with the notion of a "truth" commission is that truth is subjective and contingent on experience. These concerns were crucial to criticisms of the
44 For more on "the making of memory in South Africa" see Nuttall and Coetzee. 45 In the psychoanalytic arena, this type of research is based on Freud's "talking-cure." The very basis for psychoanalysis, this is the idea that the psyche is unknowable but the way to come close to revealing the buried traumas is through language, through the speaking of experience. While this is crucial to the field of psychoanalysis, it also has ramifications for literary study where the politics of turning history and trauma into narrative also apply. 82 TRC: that there can never be one truth, and that the ideas of collective memory and history are fraught with complications. As Hayden White tells us about the production of history, narrativizing the past always contains an element of fiction.46 Felman and Laub assert that the process of speaking one's trauma is primarily a mode of healing. A witness
"does not have to possess or own the truth in order to effectively bear witness to it" (15).
The act of witnessing can be cathartic, thereby still producing the (re)conciliatory effect, even if there are elements of fiction in their testimony. This view is supported by
Douglass and Vogler who assert, in the introduction to Witness and Memory: The
Discourse of Trauma, that "narrative testimony, in the form of an active remembering and telling, can enable a move from a state of helpless victimage to a mode of action and even potential self-renewal [....]" (41). Despite attacks on the TRC that narrative recovery, witnessing, and giving voice to trauma are insufficient to deal with the intensity of apartheid's legacy, the high levels of interest and participation in the commission's hearings indicate that they did indeed provide a forum people were looking for to give voice to their experiences. Literary scholars are well-aware that narrative provides an outlet for emotion and that narrative does play a role in history-making and in healing.
Testimony and literary production therefore converge in important ways.
The TRC's belief in the healing power of narrative is reflected in Mhlophe's poetry. Mhlophe demonstrates language as healing in her poem "In the Company of
Words:" "words turn into clay and allow me/ to mould and remould my muddled-up
46 Many critics analyze the narrativization of history at the TRC. See, for example, Klopper ("Narrative Time"). 83 thoughts/ 'til I find inner peace in my soul" (Love Child 9). The poem's speaker chooses "reading over weeping," thereby comparing literary expression with emotional expression. Mhlophe's poems continually refer to how poetry functions as a form of recovery in which people are able to process the past and look ahead to the future. In some ways, poetry offers a more appropriate form for the voicing of trauma than does testimonial narrative. Cathy Caruth's Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and
History discusses how speaking one's trauma often reproduces the traumatic experience.
Many witnesses at the TRC suggested that testifying did not immediately lead to a sense of closure, but rather it made the memories of trauma more vivid and therefore re- traumatized them.47 Caruth acknowledges that although witnessing is healthy, traumatic experience "simultaneously defies and demands our witness" (5). Because trauma is impenetrable, Caruth argues that the language used to speak about it is "somehow literary: a language that defies, even as it claims, our understanding" (5). Caruth argues that witnesses who testify to trauma often speak through a literary and poetic style.
Regarding Holocaust testimony, Giorgio Agamben agrees: "testimony is the disjunction between two impossibilities of bearing witness [...] language in order to bear witness, must give way to non-language in order to show the impossibility of bearing witness. The language of testimony is a language that no longer signifies" (39). The unspeakable
47 Caruth calls this "the wound and the voice" (5), and speakers at the TRC made clear the connection between testimony and opening wounds. Thenjiwe Mtintso was a high-ranking officer of the MK, the militant wing of the ANC under apartheid. At the time of her testimony at the TRC she was a cabinet minister in the ANC government and leader of the Commission on Gender Equality. At the Commission she addressed the problems of reopening wounds through testimony: "those wounds, they need to be addressed, Chairperson. You cannot open them in this hall and leave them gaping" (5:355). This citation refers to the published TRC report. The online version is available at http://www.doj.gov.za/trc/report/index.htm. 84 nature of trauma was particularly vexing as the TRC attempted to unearth the horrors of apartheid.
If prosaic language and narrative are insufficient vehicles through which to process and speak trauma, other modes are necessary. Harriet Davidson's article "Poetry,
Witness, Feminism" refers to the research by Felman and Laub on witnessing and memory. According to them, the trauma that moves someone to become a witness, or to testify to their traumatic experience, is indeed unspeakable. Just as the psyche is unknowable, one cannot fully voice and recapture traumatic experience. Thus, in the process of recounting trauma, narrative can break down. Davidson points to a paradox: narrative is essential to the recovery of trauma but in recovering trauma narrative is insufficient. Davidson suggests, therefore, that poetry is a more suitable medium for the voicing of trauma (164). South African reconciliation was fostered through voicing the past, and such voicing became possible through literary language. Mhlophe's poetry gives voice to memory but also to the process of remembering. Her poetic form allows for repetitions, cycles of thought, imagery and rhythms, fragmentation, and association. It is a poetry that resists being consumed by the past; she mirrors the psyche's ability to link images and words to both recover memories and recover from memories.
Mhlophe's writing therefore exemplifies how to give voice to the past, and how to forge "narrative recovery."48 Mhlophe's poem "The Dancer" {Love Child 90) describes how to mourn the past while moving forward with a sense of beauty and grace. The poem
48 Suzette Henke writes: "the term narrative recovery pivots on a double entendre meant to evoke both the recovery of past experience through narrative articulation and the psychological reintegration of a traumatically shattered subject" (xxii). 85 was written under apartheid but, like many of her poems, continues to resonate in post- apartheid South Africa. The poem alludes to the vexed relationship between Mhlophe and her mother, and the complexity of grieving for her after her passing (Kagan-Moore 115;
Love Child 23). The poem is also about mourning on a larger scale as it describes a community in mourning; "The Dancer" is about how to process, celebrate, and move forward from loss. The poem's content is a eulogy for a woman who was a "wedding dancer" and the speaker is the woman's daughter. Each stanza begins: "Mama, / They tell me you were a..." (90). The nagging implication is that the girl did not know her mother well enough to remember her. Her memory is a shared memory of the community. This is important for post-apartheid reconstruction. Recognizing that individual pain and loss is reflected in the experiences of entire communities can help weave a narrative of communal memory, and it can also provide solace with the idea that one does not experience pain and trauma alone. The poem continues to speak of communal loss:
"Mama, / they tell me I am a dancer too/ but I don't know... I don't know for sure what a wedding dancer is/ there are no more weddings/ but many, many funerals/ where we sing and dance/ running fast with the coffin/ of a would-be bride or would-be groom.... Dear,
/ dear Mama, / they tell me I am a funeral dancer" {Love Child 90-91). Thus the content of "The Dancer" depicts the transformation from wedding dancing to funeral dancing, from times of joy to times of sorrow. The eulogy for her mother is also a eulogy for a dying community. The use of "they" (those who tell the speaker that she is like her mother), and "we" (who sing and dance), indicates that loss is communal. The speaker's search for a sense of self via the connection with her mother, and the community's loss of 86 identity — a silent backdrop of apartheid's violence and re/dislocations — unites the self and the other in grief.
The power of the poem is not simply its content, but the ways in which its content is mirrored by its form. The repetition of "Mama," and the rhythm it evokes, enables the poem itself to function as a dance. Its rhythm is traceable, it moves on the page and through the voice the way bodies move to music. As the speaker describes her mother she says "they tell me you were a wedding dancer/ they tell me you smiled and closed your eyes/ your arms curving outward just a little/ and your feet shuffling in the sand; / tshi tshi tshitshitshitha, tshitshi tshitshitshitha/ O hee!" (90). The poetic form allows the transformation of words into language that expresses what words cannot. The "Tshi tshi" is the rhythm of emotion that is uncontained in language, but it is also the connection with the dance — the linking of the body with the oral form and expression — that unites the speaker with her mother. As Caruth says, voicing the past and memory requires a form of expression that goes beyond language. Even though her daughter cannot remember the movement of her mother, the onomatopoeia of the dancing enables her to both literally and figuratively retrace her steps. Through the words of the poem the daughter/speaker can perform the dance of the mother. Mhlophe's poetry illustrates how it is possible to reconcile a past even when there are missing memories. The TRC's focus on voicing memories is strengthened through the poetic form. Mhlophe shows how it is possible to give voice to pain, and also to incorporate a sense of hopefulness. The sound of the poem replicates the dance. There are the sounds of mourning, "Oh mama" but also sounds of celebration: the "O hee!", or cry of joy, is part of the poetic narrative. Thus 87 even in a poem about mourning there are moments of exaltation. The sounds of the poem replicate the sounds of pain and joy that emerge through memory and mourning; these were the sounds of the TRC when giving voice to trauma produced relief but also grief.
The image of a funeral dancer is immediately recognizable in South Africa.
Opland's study on Xhosa imbongi pays particular attention to funerals. The praise poet's contribution is of course a eulogy but it can also act as a catalyst for change: "The Xhosa imbongi has the power through his poetic performances to sway emotions, to incite actions [...] the poetry itself has power" (117). Mhlophe's poetry does this, but in "The
Dancer" it also signals a larger tradition of funerals as sites for both poetry and drama.
This chapter opens with a story about how Mhlophe's use of voice at a funeral brought women to a frenzy of resistive activity. This signifies the power of her voice but also how the funeral was a site for both mourning and resistance. During apartheid, the funerals of freedom fighters provided a site at which a community could gather freely. Due to the heightened emotion at the loss of young people, perceived as heroes and martyrs, the funeral became the location of "the most compelling instances of anti-apartheid street performance, as well as the least widely-known" (Cohen-Cruz 282). Belinda Bozzoli also notes that funerals were often an arena for "political theatre" (210). She describes both these funerals and the TRC as "theatres of struggle" arguing that, with a lack of public space, funerals became a main stage for resistance activity: "Political funerals were vital for mobilization in the townships [...] achieving dramaturgical power. Different means were used to create political theatre out of political tragedy and to translate the varied emotions of grief, anger, revolutionary passion, or even apathy into public and theatrical means of communicating power" (211). Mhlophe's "The Dancer" resonated at the TRC because the TRC itself was a theatre for mourning, struggle, and counter- discourse.
Giving communities and individuals who had been silenced for so long an opportunity to put their marginalized experiences on the record not only gave way to personal healing but also finally overturned the official discourse that had regulated apartheid for so long. Mhlophe's poetry similarly indicated ways to reconstruct both oneself and one's community through finding one's voice. "The Dancer" was read aloud at the TRC special hearings for women (28 July, 1997).49 These special hearings were held as a result of Sheila Meintjes and Beth Goldblatt's submission to the TRC,50 which argued that women were being underrepresented in the testimonies at the Human Rights
Violations (HRV) victim hearings.51 Meintjes and Goldblatt argued that women were not coming forward as victims because of the way the HRV hearings were framed. Often women's experience of trauma was a result of the arrest, disappearance, or murder of family members, and therefore women were not telling their own stories. Rather than addressing major political moments, many women testified about family members disappearing and about the ways in which apartheid had an impact on the home. Many women who testified were freedom fighters, but their focus was on the personal. The
49 All transcripts from the TRC are available here:
Given that Mhlophe's poems illustrate how reconstruction can be forged through language, through speaking the past and voicing memories, it is not surprising that she was asked to perform some of them at the TRC. Her contribution was especially important because her poems indicate the relevance of the stories and voices of women in particular. Like those who came to testify at the women's hearings, Mhlophe does not speak to the large-scale politics of apartheid. Mhlophe's poems such as "The Dancer" personalize pain and loss. This poem has as much to do with the narrative of communal loss as the narrative of loss between mother and daughter. Mhlophe shows the ramifications of politics on the personal lives of the women testifying at the TRC, as her poems interrogate the politics of gender as well as of race. In poems such as "Praise to our Mothers" (LC 26), and "A Brighter Dawn for African Women" (LC 107), Mhlophe gives voice to the experiences of African women. At the special women's hearings,
Mhlophe recited a poem entitled "Sitting Alone Thinking" in which she asks: "Would
Mr. President be a better man if he has a womb and breasts full of milk? Would he be impressed by the number of children jailed all in the name of peace [....]" (28 July 1997).
At the women's hearings, Mhlophe inserted the narrative of women's experience into the
52 For more on gender at the TRC see Ross, Samuelson, Handlarski. 90 literary and political arena. Her words gave strength to the women who were reopening old wounds through their testimony at the TRC. Mhlophe's poems encapsulate how one can give voice to the pain of the past while using that voice to foster reconciliation.
Mhlophe's performance at the women's hearings served several functions.
Analisa Oboe analyzes how Mhlophe's performances took advantage of the public nature of the TRC (62). She writes that "seizing this unique opportunity to liberate their minds and voices, long suppressed by a heartless patriarchal system, the women told their tales within the traditional frame of oral performances" (60). Locating the testimony within an oral storytelling tradition emphasizes how Mhlophe's performance at the TRC often mirrored the content of the testimony ~ narratives of loss and everyday life - but also sometimes the form. Oboe describes the testimony of women at the hearings: "there were instances in which the factual recounting of events gave way to eloquent lamentation and a flood of metaphorical and lyrical language" (67). Given that, in order to recover from trauma, and from the speaking of trauma, one must often voice memory in a poetic way,
Mhlophe's performance helped to guide women into a style that better fit the nature of their testimony. Women's testimony was often fractured, cyclical, repetitive, non-linear, metaphorical, and allusive. Thus Mhlophe's introduction through poetry mirrored the testimony that she was introducing. Significantly, she also mirrored the narrative recovery that the testimony was meant to evoke. Adam Sitze argues that "the cathartic testimony given before the commission is genealogically related to the politics and poetics of protest writing" (Qtd. in Bethlehem 78) which Mhlophe exemplified in her combination of poetry, testimony, and politics at the TRC. Mhlophe's poetic discourse 91 illustrated how to mourn, how to memorialize, but also how to recover. "The Dancer," for example, illustrates how to mourn, but also how to dance. Mhlophe's poetry and drama capture a spirit of resistance-rooted joy. In essence it is a desire to turn struggle into song, and to represent the moments of everyday life as beautifully and evocatively as possible. Thus Mhlophe's poems at the TRC not only gave voice to the past, allowing for narrative recovery, but they also provided a sense of hope in looking towards the future.
The dancing, the rhythm, and the imagery all voiced a celebration of life in spite of its hardships.
Mhlophe's performance of different poems had different effects at the TRC. In addition to personal poems, such as "The Dancer," Mhlophe performed a poem entitled
"Leader Remember." This poem more directly addressed the end of apartheid, and the hope and pain it brought. The leader in the poem appears to be Nelson Mandela, as the imagery evokes his release from prison: "Leader Remember/ the day you walked out/ the very minute, the very second/ as your right foot stepped outside/ outside the gates of that jail/ fist in the air, sun in your face/ the joy that washed over you/ like bucketfuls of honey/ the pain that touched your soul/ like a poisoned arrow/ of wasted years and potential" (LC 95). The image of the sun in the face contrasting with the pain in the soul encapsulates the celebration and mourning of fighting for freedom. The speaker repeats
"Leader Remember" but also repeats: "That timeless message all freedom fighters know;
/ Don't give up/ Don't give up/ Here, take with you/ Love/ Self respect/ Selflessness/ Fight for your people /" (95). Many of the women who testified at the women's hearings were freedom fighters. Mhlophe's reading of "Leader Remember" at these hearings spoke 92 aloud their concerns that the post-apartheid state would not adequately address the lingering problems of racial and gender-based discrimination and violence. The poem evoked both a sense of hope that the "leader," like the female freedom fighters there to testify, were and are strong, but also a sense that for the women, as well as for the TRC,
"The fight is never over." Mhlophe's poem urged the women to celebrate their successes but also to be strong for the challenges to come.
Poems like "Leader Remember" invited women to step into their place as actors in, and critics of, political life. The need for the women's hearings suggested both that women have been excluded from the historical record but also that, without them, the record would remain incomplete. The women's hearings made it clear that women's voices, even when focused on what seem to be private matters, can have an impact on the historical record. Personal experiences are the matter comprising political history. Michel de Certeau, always interested in "everyday life," describes the process of writing history as a form of mourning. He is not discussing the TRC, in particular, but his argument applies: "historiography is a contemporary form of mourning. Its writing is based on an absence and produces nothing but simulacra, however scientific. It offers representation in place of bereavement" (Mystic Fable 10).This may have been obvious at the TRC, but de Certeau connotes something about the link between memory and mourning in all arenas in which the past is being "recovered." De Certeau takes up this theme repeatedly.
His texts The Mystic Fable, The Writing of History, and Heterologies all hinge on the link between history and myth, and that historiography is "performative. In attempting to 93 recount the real, it manufactures it" (Heterologies 207).53 Mhlophe demonstrated both
an insistence that women's histories be incorporated into the larger history of South
Africa, but also that such an incorporation relied on the fictional and poetic. The very
notion of a poet at the TRC implies that truth is often literary, and history and narrative
inextricable.54
Mhlophe's poems enacted the hope of the TRC that South Africans reconstruct
self and community through giving voice to memory. Mhlophe performed a poem created
specifically for the women at the special women's hearings. In order to emphasize that
voicing the past is difficult, but ultimately healing, Mhlophe spoke these words: "Where
do they come from, tell me, tell me, where do they come from. Tales so brave, tales so
strong... these tales are from the bones of memory, of memory, of memory, of memory,
from the bones of memory, from the bones of memory..." (28 July 1997). The TRC was
531 have never come across a study of how de Certeau's theories complement South African history and historiography, but there is much to say concerning how he theorizes history and memory and their relationship to land claims, storytelling, the body, the politics of silence, and resistance. Much of this is outside the purview of this chapter, but certainly resonates with it. 54 This theme appears in Zandile as well. Zandile's character begins to critique the history they are taught in school. She and Lindiwe discuss reading books, as well as magazines like Bona and Drum, so that they can "discover everything" (41). They decide to read these during school hours (a direct challenge to the Bantu education they receive), but to hide the books and magazines in their history books so they will not be caught. Lindiwe asks "why the history book?" and Zandile replies "because I hate history! The great trek, the great trek, every year it is the same, the great trek. Nothing else ever happened here or anywhere, just the great trek. Yes, and so we put it in the history book, and we read, looking very serious" (42). Zandile's repeated reference to the Boer great trek of the 1830s and 1840s signifies the repetition and prominence it receives in Bantu education. Their "looking very serious" parallels the way in which history masks its own performance. As de Certeau describes, history and historiography are always an obfuscation or omission, but always pose as something scientific, sure, serious. In Zandile, this is particularly important because the history being presented is women's history, a new gendering of both the power of history and storytelling. All of this has direct implications for the women's testimony at the TRC, as does Mhlophe's portrayal of the ways in which personal history become elements of collective history. Marcia Blumberg writes that "Zandile remembers and revalues her personal history, which forms a significant part of the extended silence, the unspoken, forgotten, or neglected stories of her community" ("Revaluing" 140). The TRC's goal was to create a collective history in order to bring communities together. Mhlophe's drama and poetry are able to do this more effectively. 94 fundamentally about narrative and memory, but it was also completely consumed with mourning, grief, and death. Mhlophe's poem linked memory and loss. The image of the bones signified the way in which death was pervasive in the memories being recalled at the TRC. Mhlophe linked the bones with stories; she made clear that to be able to tell strong tales, one must acknowledge the bones from which they come. "Bones of memory" also highlighted how, in order to recover from past loss, one must give voice to its experience. Rather than prosaically making these connections, Mhlophe's words paralleled the testimony at the TRC - the circularity, repeated thoughts, phrases, images, and the connections between stories and the "bones of memory." Mhlophe demonstrated how poetry serves narrative recovery.
Mhlophe had used the phrase "bones of memory" before. In her poem "Sweet
Honey Nights" {Love Child 22) the speaker remembers her mother. Like "The Dancer," the poem mourns the relationship between mother and daughter, highlighting the complexity of loss and grief, but also the resentment and mixed feelings about the maternal figure. In the poem the speaker says "after she died I realized that/ my mind did not recall/ any of the good times/ the pain and the tears filled my thoughts/ soon I knew I had to go back/ shake up the bones/ and try to find the other stories/ from the bones of memory" (22). This poem was written well before the TRC. The image of the "bones of memory" fitted with testimony at the TRC but it is also an image that corresponded to other contexts in which memory is used in order to heal. In South Africa, sangomas are the traditional healers. They diagnose, foretell, and relate to the ancestors through shaking up bones and reading their messages. Mhlophe's call to "shake up the bones of 95 memory" was an evocation of the tradition of using memory and the past to understand oneself and therefore to move into the future with a healed, more integrated, sense of self.
Many of the stories at the TRC were about death. Excavating the memories, like the speaker of "Sweet Honey Nights" who is looking for the stories the bones may reveal, was like exhuming bodies: victims were seeking the truths about the deaths of their loved ones. They were also attempting to purge their trauma. Perhaps the best images associated with the TRC are bones, memory, and voice. Mhlophe's performance of
"Sweet Honey Nights" at the TRC spoke to how memory is always, in a sense, a process of shaking bones and finding stories in order to assimilate memories of pain and loss into one's life.
Music
Mhlophe uses her voice to foster resistance and re/si stering by shaking the "bones of memory" through poetry and song. Music has been a huge part of resistance in South
Africa, and of how the country has dealt with the "bones of memory." Michael Titlestad's
Making the Changes: Jazz in South African Literature and Reportage argues that jazz is a form of shamanism in South Africa.55 His chapter "the artist gathers the bones" describes how the "bones of memory" are identified and reified through "the shamanic poetics of jazz discourse" (301). Because of its cultural and healing power, music has had a tremendous impact on the literature of South Africa, as well as on resistance activity.
Music, another sphere of orality, puts a beat to the dramatic and poetic traditions that
55 Sangomas are the traditional healers in South Africa. By "shamanism" Titlestad refers to a process of healing that occurs through natural and sometimes inexplicable processes. Music is healing in intangible, yet effective, ways. 96 have been part of resistance culture. Joanne Tompkins notes that song is a way of continuing the oral tradition, and of posing a challenge to colonial forms and languages, in many postcolonial theatre traditions (Postcolonial Drama 193). This is particularly true in South Africa where music was a feature at political protests during apartheid, and it continues to be a part of political life. Rhythm is part of what makes Mhlophe's poetry and drama so compelling. While it is difficult to translate aspects of her rhythmic performance, I attempt to demonstrate how Mhlophe uses song and voice for social change. Her work on the documentary Songololo: Voices of Change,56 for example, highlights how raising one's voice in song can be an act of resistance. Songololo is about the use of song in the anti-apartheid movement. It features Mhlophe and another poet/singer, Mzwakhe Mbuli, whose refrain "resistance is defiance" runs repeatedly, rhythmically, through the film. The idea that "resistance is defiance" in itself is tautological. Mbuli's power lies in demonstrating how rhythm and defiant tones of voice attract and inspire people to a movement, and how this attraction can engender resistance.
Other films have noted the influence of music on political life in South Africa. One film argues that the South African anti-apartheid movement was the "only revolution to take place in four-part harmony" (Amandla/). John Shoup agrees, and argues that "popular music played an unusually important role in the resistance movement during the apartheid period" (73). The oral aspect of resistance movements is crucial to their success.
56 For more discussion on this film see Tomaselli and Eke (Review). See also their work on orality in South African cinema for another example of orality's changing role in South African cultural production (Perspectives). 97 Music and resistance are an integral part of South African politics and literature. Angela Nelson's critical work on rhythm in black cultures is entitled This is
How We Flow in order to highlight the ways in which the "cultural and global flows" (1) of music and social movements are connected through rhythm. She argues that "an
African aesthetic does indeed exist and that this aesthetic necessarily revolves around the motif of rhythm" (4). In order to address the potential essentialism inherent to such a claim, her collection includes William Banfield's "Some Aesthetic Suggestions for a
Working Theory of the 'Undeniable Groove': How do We Speak about Black Rhythm,
Setting Text, and Composition?" Banfield notes that "reducing black artistic quality to an innate ability to 'keep good time'" (33) has been a way for a white-centred mainstream to debase black and African art. Banfield also suggests, however, that this may be due to the fact that the notion of rhythm itself is misunderstood: "Rhythm, in my mind, means coordinated movement at many levels - physical, spiritual, symbolic, literal, and intellectual" (33). The ability to "keep good time" is therefore not simply about the ability to "flow" musically, but connecting that "flow" to the flow of historical and social processes and progress as well. The ability to work together is reflected in a movement's ability to chant, sing, dance, and cheer together.
Mhlophe taps into that "flow" by incorporating aspects of music into her praise poetry and drama. Her stories are often sung and her drama incorporates aspects of various musical traditions. In Zandile music, like storytelling, is incorporated as an integral part of Zandile's personal history. The play opens with Zandile singing to herself in Xhosa. The childhood song she sings is emblematic of her age and innocence (1). 98 Zandile is immediately, therefore, characterized through song. One of the key scenes in the play is "Zandile teaches flowers." In this scene, Zandile appears before her garden in the role of school teacher. This scene is a commentary on the Bantu education system set up by the apartheid government. Zandile gives the flowers "white" names, just as the school inspector did when he visited her school. The scene unfolds as Zandile tries to teach the flowers a song. The song is supposed to be beautiful, but Zandile becomes enraged as the "flowers" continue to "make mistakes" (17). Zandile exclaims "You children don't want to sing. I'll teach you" and she begins to beat the flowers with a stick
(18). Again, this is an obvious comment on the violence within the education system. We know that Zandile is reproducing her own experiences from school. As she beats the flowers she is mimicking the physical domination of school inspectors whose job it is to
"beat" black heritage out of their students. Other critics have also noted that this scene represents Zandile's violent reaction to her internalized racism (for example, Flockemann
48), but they ignore that the critique of the education system functions through the metaphor of song.
When Gogo finds Zandile beating the flowers, she gently admonishes, "You can teach them if you like, but don't beat them. How will they grow? [...] everything that grows has feelings. Now sing to them, the way you would like them to sing" (19).
Together Gogo and Zandile complete the song. The scene is not simply about learning empathy but, more specifically, about how song carries and fosters that empathy. Gogo singing with Zandile is not only a model for how to learn and teach, but also an antidote to the loneliness Zandile feels. Zandile is peerless and uses imaginary friends to 99 compensate. Singing is part of Zandile's education, but it is also part of how she learns comradeship and love. This scene appears immediately before Zandile's mother takes her away from Gogo. Song therefore also becomes tied to memory. Zandile sings Gogo's song in order to feel close to her. Song, for all of these personal reasons, is incredibly important to Zandile. Song is also connected with Mhlophe's critique of Bantu education; she sings to combat the violence — physical and epistemic - that her school both taught and inflicted. Song is indeed defiance in this scene and it anchors Zandile's personal development with her ability to critique the injustice around her.
Zandile is told partly through song, and the rhythm of this form mirrors the content. Zandile makes frequent reference to the musical scene in South Africa. Zandile and her best friend Lindiwe sing and dance to popular American songs such as "Sugar
Sugar" (56) and "Oh What a Night" (54). In the same scene, Lindiwe shows Zandile how to sing the background "pa pum pa pum" with an "African beat." Zandile exclaims
"siyafunda ezase Jo 'burgl (We are learning Jo'burg styles!)" (57). The African-American style music (note that this hyphenated term is literalized here - Zandile is connecting the
African and American styles), inflected with a "Jo-burg style" beat and dance steps, uses the blending of rhythms to symbolize the blending of cultures. When performed on stage,
Zandile and Lindiwe syncretize Africa with black America through music. The beat and rhythm harmonize and through that harmony the musical styles are fused. Because jazz and other forms of music predominantly produced by African-Americans have always been inextricable from the civil rights struggle and from subversive activity that promoted racial integration and rights, the syncretism of the musical styles is a nod to the 100 possibilities for black South Africans to achieve their own freedom. In this way
Mhlophe connects the girls, struggling for their independence through their exposure to these new and subversive music genres, to a black South Africa struggling for its independence on a broader scale. The other musical syncretism in the scene is that
Mhlophe draws on both traditional and modern rhythms. This scene with Lindiwe is paired with Zandile's praise poem scene, the rhythm of one playing off the rhythm of the other. Mhlophe's blending of traditional and modern forms of rhythm, poetry, and music is echoed by the syncretism between urban and rural, as well as American and African, forms. Zandile, living in the rural Transkei, equates the cool beats of the drum that
Lindiwe teaches her, and the American-influenced music, with the city.
Part of what makes this scene so poignant in its comments on "Jo'burg style" is what is left out. Admonishing Zandile for her clothing options, Lindiwe says "It's 1976, you must look sharp!" (50). Lindiwe specifically names the year as 1976 -- a year that any South African audience would immediately associate with the Soweto Uprisings ~ yet she associates the timing with style and not with politics. Given that Zandile is so much a play about education it is notable that Mhlophe does not mention the Soweto uprisings, particularly when she specifically mentions Lindiwe's trip to a wedding in
Johannesburg, and the "Jo'burg style" that epitomizes cultural cool at the time. The
Soweto Uprisings began as a reaction to Bantu education, and specifically to the imposition of Afrikaans as the language of instruction. Most theatre highlighting any kind of music from Johannesburg in 1976 includes the numerous protest songs that proliferated through the area quickly. Mhlophe is deliberate in avoiding this type of 101 music. Rather, the music that Zandile and Lindiwe practice singing is the type that they equate with a kind of cool they can only achieve through a sense of maturity and urban-living. Lindiwe and Zandile are learning to "flow," but not in the overtly political ways that most "protest theatre" would depict. Their protest to the oppressive South
African scene is to look elsewhere, and to blend their musical tradition with those from outside.57
While Mhlophe's portrayal of music does not immediately recall an image of resistance, the creolization of American and African forms is itself an act of subversion.
In "Sounds of Resistance," Robin Ballinger describes creolized "music as a site of control and resistance" (13). She notes that jazz has always been a medium of music meant to subvert the mainstream as its sounds and cultures resist order, control, and hierarchy (13).
Popular music, then, becomes a site of counter-hegemony whereby self-expression is encompassed by dissident sound. This may be part of Mhlophe's aim in naming the year
1976 and then portraying popular music. She is highlighting how not all music was protest song, but that the American music being incorporated into South African beat and style functioned as its own type of resistance: resistance to the order and control being imposed by the apartheid state, and by the imperial influences of cultural production.
While cultural influences, particularly language, were such hotbed issues, the girls subordinate American music to a South African style, and not vice versa. Thus,
57 African-American music encodes its own resistance and defiance leading up to and during the civil rights movement. 102 Mhlophe's play demonstrates that on the level of the popular, as well as the political, song can be resistive.58
In Zandile jazz represents both the hope for subversion and its disappointment.
But jazz in South African literature often represents resistance. Titlestad reads jazz in
South African culture as being a constant site of play, expression, and resistance. His chapter "Blackness Echoes the Real Blues: Jazz, Dissonance and Resistance" argues that anti-apartheid resistance would have been impossible without the music that provided its beat. He writes, "even if jazz has not brought about a new world order, it has generated a parallel textuality in which local versions of freedom and social hope could be imagined and articulated" (241). Titlestad credits jazz with providing a means of evading
"panoptical surveillance" and he states that its production allowed black South Africans a medium through which to "improvise" (242) identities that were outside the apartheid state's definitions and controls. Terms like "improvise," "dissonance," "cacophony" are musical and belong specifically to jazz, but apply to descriptions of social upheaval and resistance as well.
Lindiwe and Zandile usurping African-American music into a South African sound reflect how music has been able to link transnational contexts of resistance. This linking appears in the theory about music as resistance as well. Titlestad's research draws on Ajay Heble's Landing on the Wrong Note: Jazz, Dissonance, and Critical Practice in which he traces jazz dissonance and social dissidence through a variety of contexts. His
58 Zandile finally learns of Gogo's whereabouts through Lindiwe's boyfriend Paul. A drummer, Paul is touring in Johannesburg when Lindiwe visits. He turns out to be Zandile's half-brother, and can lead Zandile back to Gogo's town. The connection between Zandile and Gogo continues to be fostered through music and musicians (58). 103 argument is that jazz, as a form of music particular to black communities in America and in Africa, encodes resistance to marginalization. Like Zandile and her flowers, music has been a way for black communities to resist the imposed white culture around them.
The "dissonance" of the jazz music, breaking with musical traditions and norms, rhythmically reflects the social dissonance that civil rights, anti-apartheid, and other race- based movements create. Not only does the music fuel the movement, but the act of collaborating in making musical dissonance that appeals to the ear is symbolic of the acts of collaboration that lead to social dissonance that in turn effect meaningful change. This is, Heble argues, the importance of the relationship between social organizing and music:
"jazz is about building purposeful communities of interest and involvement, about reinvigorating public life with the magic of dialogue and collaboration" (xi). This shows how music functions as activism, and also how Mhlophe's art functions as community- building and dialogue-forming. Heble argues: "I see value not so much as inherent in musical sounds, but rather as a function of the complex ways in which those sounds get taken up in specific historical contexts by specific social groups of both performers and listeners. Value, in short, needs to be seen as a synthesis between form and function"
(28). This is how musical dissonance produces social dissonance.
Heble surmises that dissonance is created by "the social instrumentality that such innovative models of musical practice have had, in particular, for subordinated social groups seeking access to self-representation" (28). In South Africa music has been a medium both of self and of communal expression. The form of political and musical resistance most often mentioned is the toyi-toyi, the drum-led political marches that 104 include singing, dancing, stomping, and chanting. These, the main form of protest marches under apartheid, literalize the voice of resistance, or the musical/social dissonance, that Heble describes. One of the main reasons the toyi-toyi relied on rhythm was to encourage bravery. Anti-apartheid protest marches were often met with extreme violence, mass arrests, and sometimes mass shootings by police. Lara Allen describes the role of rhythm in the toyi-toyi: "the songs that accompanied toyi-toyi were generally militant, but it was the coordinated sound and movement that gave courage to the protesters and engendered fear in those against whom the protest was addressed" (9). The rhythm of the toyi-toyi was able to intimidate police officers, and to continue to bolster resistance marches and activities. The collectivity of the group raising their voices together united them in strength and bravery even under the threat of extreme reprisals.
Not enough has been written on why the music had such power, but part of it comes from what Heble and Titlestad argue is inherent to music: a dissonance that collectivizes those who are deemed by society to be on the "wrong note."
Musical preference, although influenced by a range of aspects of identity such as race, class, age, gender, location (aspects that are constructed politically), is viewed by most as personal choice. Lara Allen suggests that music is part of what Michel de Certeau describes as "the practice of everyday life" in which personal choices comprise both private and public space and existence (Allen 6).59 Allen notes that the more music is censored the more people hear it, specifically because of its heightened political cache
59 See Carol Muller for a discussion of de Certeau's spatial theories as applied to traditional Zulu song, story, and performance. (6). Nonetheless, individual taste varies and, despite being informed by environment, people's personal and individual musical choices can become the basis for political collectivities. This dissertation's introduction describes how de Certeau makes a distinction between tactics and strategies. Tactics, unrooted and dislocated, can apply to social movements that do not have a central authoritative power. Music in the toyi-toyi is an example of a tactic. It can be taken up in a variety of spaces and by different collectivities for use towards their resistance goals.
Michael Titlestad's work on jazz also refers to how music becomes a tactic (49).
He notes that "the space of the tactic is the space of the other" (37) and posits that, through music, an "othered" subjectivity can be expressed in a form that is itself "other" to the mainstream. Using de Certeau's work on space Titlestad describes how jazz influenced the South African cityscape (29) and, through the "improvisation" one can hear in the music, the improvised existence of black South African life under apartheid can be traced. The connection between tactics and everyday life is central to de Certeau's theory. Music is one such potential tactic, as is theatre. Alan Read's Theatre and
Everyday Life argues that "theatre, when it is good, enables us to know the everyday in order to better live everyday life" (l).60 He suggests that theatre production is an act of
"spatial praxis" (158), an idea from Lefebvre's Critique of Everyday Life. Lefebvre mirrors de Certeau in that he describes how the spatial constituents of everyday life enable subversive activity to take place. Just as both theatre and oral storytelling re-root
60 Similarly, Augusto Boal's Theatre of the Oppressed claims that politics and theatre are inextricable. Boal argues that everything in life is political and, therefore, any staged subject is political theatre (92). 106 audiences when they have been dislocated, so does music allow voice and rhythm to ground and unite people.61 Lefebvre, again resonating with de Certeau, argues that the very unrootedness of everyday life provides the meeting places, social spaces, and social texts that defy state-powered control (Critique 231). Lefebvre's "rhythmanalysis" links rhythm with this social space and social action (Rhythmanalysis vii). Everyday life has its own rhythm: the sounds of the street, the pulse of everyday challenges and successes, and the rhythmic life cycle by which all families and communities must constitute
fs."} themselves. Music is one tactic of the resistance incorporated into everyday life.
Mhlophe avoids depicting the toyi-toyi but shows how music can lead to the personal growth that engenders a resistance to dehumanization. Her use of voice, including poetry and song, allows others to unite their voices in resistance as well. Her music has inspired action in political forums, but more importantly it reifies her community's personal experiences through rhythmic and beautiful melodies. Women, in particular, have been the subject of her song. Her voice of resistance is a voice of re/sistering.
Voices of Re/sisters
61 This is concomitant with Ray Pratt's Rhythm and Resistance in which he describes how popular music creates "free spaces" where communities come together over something seemingly apolitical, but that the act of coming together politicizes it (23). Heble's chapter '"Space is the Place': Jazz, Voice, and Resistance" synthesizes Yi-Fu Tuan's theory on geographical identity (from Space and the Place) with the experimental jazz of Sun Ra. When Ra evokes "space is the place" he means outer-space and is articulating the ways in which people of colour are "alien" in mainstream America. 62 Mhlophe acknowledges the importance of music to political uprising and theatre: "Music - if you're going to deal with political theatre - is unavoidable. It becomes people's strength" (Qtd. in Kagan-Moore 124). Yet she always uses music to emphasize the personal and the everyday. Both Alan Read and Mhlophe make clear that music is the bridge between the performance of the personal and the political. 107 The relationships between women in Mhlophe's work demonstrate that female solidarity is necessary for the personal and political change her theatre, poetry, and songs enact and encourage. Due to the fact that music is so central to her work, Mhlophe is especially critical of the sexism within the music industry. In the play Zandile's mother,
Lulama, is portrayed in a harsh light. Above I describe how Lulama steals Zandile away from her beloved Gogo, disregards Zandile's ambitions, places her value only in the dowry she can expect from her, and treats Zandile harshly. Although she is not a sympathetic character, some of her harshness is explained by her experiences with sexism and racism. In the scene "Zandile gets to know her mother" (43), Lulama describes her love of music, especially jazz, and the freedom music offered her when she was young.
Despite being married early, she went to Durban (again emphasizing the urban cultural scene as central to freedom for black South Africans) to play in a successful jazz band, where she met Zandile's father. Their illicit affair produced Zandile, but the pregnancy resulted in Lulama's expulsion from the band. Gender roles were and are tenuous in the music scene. In Luluma's experience, women could attain a degree of freedom through jazz, as part of its subversive nature, but they were still discriminated against: . .the organizers said they wouldn't have a pregnant woman on stage - as if it was such a disgrace, or as if I had made myself pregnant. You know, at times I so wish that men could get pregnant too" (46). Lulama had to leave the band, and go back to her husband, pretending that the baby was his. She lost her two loves simultaneously: Zandile's father and her music. 108 Lulama articulates anger at the sexism in the music industry, and the double standard that allows men to father children without reproach, but that leaves women to suffer the consequences. One could certainly argue that Lulama has simply internalized the patriarchal values which she attributes to her Xhosa tradition, and therefore she expects Zandile to abide by them, but the emphasis on jazz and music implies a different interpretation. Lulama cares for Zandile, despite the fact that her conception led to such loss. Lulama's protection of Zandile therefore includes a protection from the allures of the urban world which promises freedom and then revokes it. Perhaps Lulama's lesson is that the subversions of jazz and the city could not go far enough to save her from the expectations with which she had been raised. Mhlophe's play demonstrates that, as with so much of the resistance activity in South Africa, racial and cultural freedom was the goal, and freedom for women was not.63
Lulama's story in Zandile is emblematic of the experience of many South African women in jazz. Dorothy Driver's study of Drum, a magazine devoted to social change for black South Africans, and named for the beat to which that change was literally marching, inserts a gender-based critique on the magazine's portrayal of music. She notes
63Given Mhlophe's own fraught relationship with her mother, Lulama's character takes on particular importance. The review article "A More Gentle Zandile Goes Back to Mama" articulates how "Mhlophe believes her mother's story is what is most political in the play" (23). Mhlophe is quoted as saying "my mother was a migrant worker and she was victimized for that. That is a political statement. We need to look at more subtle things than marching students" (23). Using her mother to demonstrate that "the personal is political" she was able to inspire her female audience members. In an interview with Dennis Walder, Mhlophe remarks on her mother's strength in dealing with her forced separation from Mhlophe's father due to pass laws, as well as subsequent abuse from her own son (Mhlophe's half-brother). She admires her mother's toughness and ability to "rise up like a new person" (36-37). Walder describes how the play moves black women in South African audiences and abroad because "the relationship between them and their mothers and grandmothers had been disrupted. They felt the play was very important as a way of exploring memory and disruption in a woman's life" (37). 109 that for many male writers "the magazine offered a vehicle that was part training ground and part enabling community. It offered quite the reverse for women" (231). She argues that while Drum did present "the ways in which rural patriarchal structures were giving way to urban forms" it also highlighted "the ways in which women's voices were silenced and a set of 'feminine' voices constructed in their place" (232). Music had the potential to proliferate women's voices but, as Driver suggests, these voices were often quashed by the very industry that may have empowered them. Just as in Zandile, the experience for women in jazz, urbanization, and cultural revolution was more supportive of gender roles than transgressive of them. Driver argues that jazz "signifies a space where a vision of Africa might persist: an Africa which refused the enforced separation between rural past and urban present. [...] Through jazz, 'Africa' moved to the city;
'Africa' infused the present" (239). And Driver argues that, for women, the jazz scene opened an alternative to traditional femininity. While a female jazz singer had to be a particular "kind" of woman, she was more in charge of her sexuality, more able to speak and to sing freely, and more able to communicate her point of view precisely because she did it through the appealing forms of jazz and song. Driver suggests that "the process of eroticization sometimes seemed to allow desire to pass back and forth between 'subject' and 'object', threatening to disturb the hierarchy maintained so carefully at other times"
(237). But, just as Lulama experiences, once that sexy, youthful image is compromised, traditional expectations for women are once again enforced.64
64 Heble includes a chapter entitled "Nice Work if you can get it: Women in Jazz" which describes the aftermath of a local Canadian jazz festival entitling one year's theme as "women in jazz." Heble notes that 110 Jazz produced a hybrid space for women ~ it allowed women a degree of freedom — but its bucking of tradition was not able to concretely emancipate women from traditional gender roles. In spite of this, however, music and jazz as subversive forms can and have been used to promote greater representation and equality for women.
The pitfalls do not completely subsume the potential for music as a medium for voices of resistance. "Zandile" translates to "the number of girls is growing." Lulama tells Zandile that she chose this name as a result of the sexism in the jazz scene as well as in her traditional upbringing (46). The naming of her child affirms the hope for a better world for future girls as their numbers, and perhaps by extension their voices, rise. Zandile is also the name of Mhlophe's sister. Mhlophe says she chose that name because of her admiration for her sister and because "the name is also symbolic. When you say the number of girls are growing, it could be translated to mean that the contribution of women in the arts is growing" (Statement 82). The character of Lulama is not able to transcend sexism in the arts, but the name "Zandile" represents Mhlophe's ability to do so.
The women's movement in South Africa, as part of and as an extension of the anti-apartheid protests, used music in very powerful ways. Some of this came from
the outcry signaled the extent to which "implicit in the term jazz musician [...] is the word male: gender, it would seem, becomes an issue only when the performer is female" (156). While the context of the jazz festival Heble describes (in the Ontario town of Guelph in 1997) is very different to Lulama's world of South African jazz in the 1960s, similar patterns repeat. According to Heble's account, jazz may be subversive but it does not subvert the hierarchy of gender; jazz is able to subvert the tradition and social controls of music, race, and culture, but it is not always able to overcome patriarchy. Ill Mhlophe herself whose words take on particular power when heard aloud.65 Most of
Mhlophe's oeuvre emphasizes women's issues. Her play/poem "Nokulunga's Wedding"
(Love Child 64) concerns the sexism inherent in traditional marriage and marital rape.
Many feminist critics have called the wide-scale nature of rape a "war" on women.
Mhlophe makes this point herself in "We are at War" (Love Child 73) which functions as a call to action: "women of my country/ we are at war [...] forces of exploitation/ degrade
Mother Africa/ As well as us, her daughters" (74). The poem sounds like a march, including a repetition of "forward ever/ backward never" which re-contextualizes this protest chant in the context of a poem about women. Her poetry and drama about women's issues always contains elements of joyful resistance. Love Child ends with the piece "A Brighter Dawn for African Women" (107) which begins "Hoyiii-na! Hoyina!!;" this celebratory exclamation situates the poem in the genre of praise poetry. The poem looks to the day "when the African woman/ will be appreciated and honoured" (107). The poem is about gender, but also about space, postcoloniality and resistance: "all too often made to feel like a refugee in her own home/ she has been fighting the battles of colonialism/ one after the other, without any recognition" (107). The poem, like "The
Dancer," uses rhythm and voice to link protest and joy: "every time she's called upon to sing and dance for one victory/ her hips sway longingly for all wars to end" (107).
This sentiment is echoed at other protests where music was used by a broader women's movement. One of the main protest songs during apartheid was Nkosi Sikelel'
65 At the 2008 AUETSA conference I delivered a paper on Mhlophe's work and received several anecdotal comments about academics and critics who dislike Mhlophe's poetry until they hear her perform it. The power of it is in its orality, in addition to its message. 112 iAfrika. Xhosa for "God bless Africa," this song was the anthem of the ANC. The song was banned by the apartheid government, and thus to sing it was itself an illegal act of resistance. One of the most famous examples of Nkosikel' iAfrika being used as a protest song was at the women's march of 1956. This march was organized for and by women to protest the pass laws and it is known as one of the most successful protests against apartheid power. Itself an example of re/sistering, the march was organized by the
Federation of South African Women (FEDSAW), whose leadership was comprised of
Lilian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph, and other women across various identified racial categories under apartheid. The march, for all women regardless of colour, drew twenty thousand women to the Union buildings in South Africa, and culminated in the singing of the
ANC's anthem. Albertina Sisulu recalls "twenty thousand women singing Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika, you should have heard the sound of the echoes in the Union Building. There was nothing like that sound, it filled the world. Then we sang a song of the women..." (Qtd. in Pollard 104). The re/sistering of the women's march functioned through protest song; the fervor created by the tune and rhythm united women through the uniting of their voices. The song today is South Africa's national anthem, and it has been adapted to include all eleven official languages as well as verses from "Die Stem" (the voice), which was the national anthem during the apartheid years.66 The women initially modeled how to use the song to bring together South Africa's diverse voices and this level of linguistic inclusion continues in that vein. The anthem is exemplary of the huge transformation in
66 It is significant that the anthem "The Voice" has been replaced by an anthem that represents not just one voice but many, and in the languages spoken around the country. 113 South Africa: what was once banned is now officially symbolic of the country as a whole. The song, previously a tool of resistance against the South African state, is now used, post-apartheid, to legitimize it.67
These types of transformation are possible in the realm of sisterhood as well.
Sisterhood in South Africa has been difficult and fractured. Often white women were the direct oppressors of black women, through their roles as "madams" and supporters of apartheid policies. The conflation between private and public domains makes efforts to re/sister important in South Africa. Mhlophe reacts against easy assumptions of sisterhood, but her works often gesture towards it. Zandile depicts various types of sisterhood. The relationship between Zandile and Lindiwe is very sisterly. Together they discuss their pubescent understandings of their bodies, sexuality, beauty myths, and gender roles (36 - 42). This focus on girlhood exemplifies how the personal becomes political in Mhlophe's work. As the girls discuss how life is hard for girls, with the pressure to look pretty, work hard in the home once married, and never to be able to ask questions about their own bodies, a narrative unfolds of how patriarchy and tradition influence their lives. It is not a direct attack on patriarchy, but rather a gesture towards empathizing with girls, and centralizing their viewpoints on stage. The sisterhood
67 The complex constructions of nationhood are outside the scope of this dissertation. However, for an interesting discussion of national anthems and issues of race and gender, see Judith Butler and Gayatri Spivak's Who Sings the Nation-State?. This text, an example in theory of re/sistering, addresses the singing of the American national anthem in Spanish and the resulting conversations concerning inclusion and control: "Global feminism might seek to reinvent the state as an abstract structure with a persistent effort to keep it clear of nations and fascisms. Indeed, when you sing the national anthem in Spanish, it is to these abstract structures that you are laying claim" (77). Singing Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika at a women's march implies something similar. 114 between these girls highlights the importance of the connection between girls, and how such sisterly relationships are central in the lives of girls and women.
Although the representation of girlhood in the play highlights the multiple sites of oppression of being young, black and female, the play celebrates black girlhood as well.68
Stephen Gray notes:
Although Zandile is the most oppressed of all South African stage characters -
black, female, working-class and a school-child as well - the impact of the play is
not based on any demonstration of the disabilities of such a position. On the
contrary, Mhlophe's script reveals all the hidden strengths of the female's
position: the rare bonding of interdependence, the undefeatable and mutual trust
and understanding - in a word, its solidarity. (84-5)
Gray discusses how Mhlophe's play demonstrates this solidarity, as well as the possibility for personal transformation, through role-changes. The same actor plays
Gogo, Zandile's mother Lulama, and Zandile's best friend Lindiwe. This visual transformation underscores both the importance of various relationships between women and how one person performs many roles in life. Gray suggests that this "heralds the people's ability to transform themselves" (85). He finds effective "this type of technique
-- stressing performance skill and versatility - [which] is not really on the familiar agenda of confrontational agitprop; it is rather a gentle and convincing statement [....]" (85).The content and staging of Zandile depict the importance of women identifying with other
68 Chapter 3 of this dissertation explores South African girlhood in detail. 115 women. Although in the play this does not extend to women across races, elsewhere
Mhlophe urges the importance of that type of re/sistering as well.
Mhlophe argues "women should support and respect one another. Sisters should be sisters, not competitors" (Qtd. in Vera 22). Elsewhere, Mhlophe suggests that "our very womanhood binds us together in a very clear understanding of each other's ups and downs. There is one thing that I strongly believe, that there is a woman inside every woman. Whether the woman is black or white, or any colour, she really is this woman on the inside" ("The Woman Inside" 106). While this type of essentializing is not necessarily part of this project's view of re/sistering, the idea that gender can transgress racial and cultural barriers as a site for resistance absolutely defines it. Mhlophe is able to be critical of white women's abuses of power while suggesting that there is the possibility to transcend that history and move forward in solidarity. She argues that this functions through writing: "there is a history behind why women writers are so few and why lots of women in fact don't express themselves very openly. If I might call it anything, it is a history of rules, saying that women must keep quiet..("The Woman Inside" 106).
Mhlophe aims to combat that silencing by producing a voice of resistance. Because of her conviction that women can only achieve liberation through writing and other forms of self-expression, she is considered by many to be the African version of Virginia Woolf. I do not wish to elide women's experiences across time, region, and race but simply to illustrate comparisons between them. Mhlophe and Woolf are both early advocates for women's voices in their respective locations, and both demonstrate how space and voice are connected. 116 Mhlophe's story "The Toilet" (Love Child 11) constructs a view of her writing as a refuge from oppression. It autobiographically reflects back on her childhood. Staying secretly with her sister in servant's quarters in a white family's home, Mhlophe describes having to leave very early in the morning so as to remain undiscovered. The situation is very telling about life for black girls under apartheid. Because her sister, as one such worker, was able to live in the "white area," but Mhlophe was not, whenever she was there she was committing a criminal act. "The Toilet" describes how, when Mhlophe snuck out of her sister's quarters, she went to a public restroom in a park. The long stretches of time that were a product of her oppression led to her empowerment. She experienced a new-found zeal in the morning when she would "run off to my toilet. I call it 'my toilet' because that is exactly how I felt about it. [...] I felt my spirits lifting as I put on my shoes. I made sure my notebook was in my bag" (18). The toilet was the only space where Mhlophe felt any sense of ownership. Not a particularly glamorous location, it afforded her the time and space to write. Because Mhlophe stresses the importance of this space, Margaret Daymond compares her to Virginia Woolf (203).69 The link between
"The Toilet" and A Room of One's Own "may not be deliberate but the story works at first on exactly the same claim: this woman requires and deserves the secure space of her own in order to be her full self' (200). Indeed, once Mhlophe found such a space, she was able to express herself more freely. At the end of the story she finds the toilet door locked
69 Pamela Ryan also makes this link (96) and situates it in the context of postcoloniality: "While enduring migration, exile, and displacement produced directly by the apartheid system, the black woman has had to fight feelings of unworthiness" (99). She argues that race and postcoloniality is the fundamental difference between A Room of One's Own and The Madwoman in the Attic (99). Mhlophe's story is exemplary of why spatial factors limit the ability for black women to write. 117 but this does not hinder her creativity: "Slowly I walked over to a bench nearby, watched the early spring sun come up, and wrote my story anyway" (18). For Mhlophe, writing itself becomes that space of safety and selfhood she seeks.
Because it has been so transformative for her, Mhlophe helps other women develop a sense of strength by developing their voices. After many years in theatre,
Mhlophe began her storytelling group Zanendaba™ This group offers writing and speaking workshops for women. This gives access to women who have never possessed a public voice to develop and share their stories. These workshops enable self-expression and community engagement. The stories that emerge from the women often highlight their shared circumstances: "the stories of their lives but also of their people: the myths and fables which create and sustain a meaning for them in circumstances of continuing suffering and deprivation. Zanendaba [...] provide[s] perhaps their only chance to tell their story, to speak and be listened to in the 'new' South Africa" (Walder, "Questions"
112). Mhlophe achieves this transformation through her children's stories as well. She says, "stories for children must unlock those little doors in their minds, making them think beyond their situations, beyond the confines of their homes, and letting them discover the lives of others. [...] In our country story-telling can still be a part of the healing process as we rediscover each other in different communities after years of being apart" (Qtd. in Van Dyk 1). Apartheid, the "years of being apart," created deep divisions
70 Wicomb suggests that in the story "space is figured not only in terms of the narrator's lack of personal space but also as a desire for freezing language into visual form" and that "in the movement from toilet to bench we have the metaphoric expansion of the boundaries of Apartheid through the agency of writing" (10). 71 Zanendaba means "Bring me a story." 118 amongst women in South Africa. Mhlophe's storytelling projects and her dramatic productions use voice, poetry, performance, and rhythm to enable women to find their shared (hi)stories.
Using stories to foster connection between women is a form of ubuntu. This
African concept of interdependence, or "I am because you are" or "a person is a person through other people," is the basis for the "new" South Africa and its self-conception as the "rainbow nation." Mshai Mwangola writes, "[Mhlophe's] work - combining artistry with activism, analysis with advocacy - demonstrates an understanding of performance as encoded discourse. [...] [She] use[s] stories to create a diverse but unified 'rainbow nation"' (9). This echoes Mhlophe's own view of her work: "through this art form and retelling folk stories, I am bringing back ubuntu and culture" (Qtd. in Goodman,
Storyteller 1 l).The notion of ubuntu actualizes storytelling as a means of community building because the stories themselves highlight the interdependence the term evokes.
The idea of ubuntu has been categorized and usurped by the TRC, other African institutions, and the world at large.73 However research suggests that it is a concept that emanates from a female African tradition (Driver, "M'a Ngoana" 234). Mhlophe, ever interested in both drawing on and defying tradition, incorporates oral storytelling forms with contemporary needs in women's communities in order to foster a woman-centred ubuntu. Ubuntu is a process of re/sistering in other contexts as well. Terry Threadgold connects ubuntu with Teresa de Lauretis' "the practice of love" (1994) which cites
72 Archbishop Desmond Tutu began calling South Africa the "rainbow nation," coining the term to denote racial harmony that had already been occurring, and to promote more of it. 73 Interesting examples are Bill Clinton's frequent mention of ubuntu with regards to AIDS work, labour, and other issues, and Madonna's use of ubuntu in her I Am Because We Are documentary. 119 feminism as a network of women loving women (sexually, romantically, platonically, sisterly, etc).74 Zanendaba as a project for ubuntu resituates storytelling and oral traditions in women's contexts, and unites women across race.
Mhlophe's re/sistering is evident in the gendered themes inherent in her work, but also in the way she produces them. Artistic collaboration is a way of telling stories that include a range of voices, and opening spheres of performance to a variety of women.
Zandile was workshopped and written by Mhlophe, as well as Maralin Vanrenen and
Thembi Mtshali. 7c This collaboration signals collectivity among women across races.
Vanrenen commissioned the project and aided in its writing and production, but did not overtake the voice, story, or direction of the project. While there are numerous examples of collaboration between women resulting in the white woman usurping the voice of the black woman, and control of the project as a whole,76 Zandile affords an example of collaborative re/sistering that does not have those unfortunate results. Because it is a successful collaboration, Holledge and Tompkins analyze Zandile in their book Women's
Intercultural Performance. Here they make the argument that intercultural plays are often clunky, overdetermining the politics of race. Collaborations by women, however,
"frequently begin from the point where cultures meet to speak about women" (1), and so emphasize the personal struggles that comprise everyday life, and the female solidarities that can therefore be created.
74 Foucault's article "Friendship as a Way of Life" also resonates with de Lauretis and Threadgold. His evocation, towards the end of his life, is that resistance happens when people form genuine bonds of affection that are subject to outside control, but not delineated by it. 75 Above 1 describe another collaboration of Mhlophe's in The Good Woman ofSharkville which she wrote and produced with Janet Suzman. 76 For example, see McClintock's discussion of Poppie Nongena (IL 299). 120 Mhlophe demonstrates ubuntu, particularly for and by women, through the content of her plays, stories and songs, but also through the ways in which they are produced, and through empowerment projects like Zanendaba. The totality of this work unites struggles such as racial and gender equality and unites participants in those struggles. Her focus on women, in her texts and in her community work, exemplifies re/sistering. Mhlophe's drama, as with her poetry and song, enacts the personal and the everyday, encourages women to use and unite their voices to become re/sisters, and inspires her audiences and collaborators to link self-expression with community engagement. Never defined by large-scale politics but always in conversation with them, she reasserts the importance of women in traditional storytelling and oral forms, and she creates new forms to suit the needs of societal change. Under apartheid, literature gave rise to possibilities for voices both of continued resistance and celebration. The following chapters discuss how women's voices continued to be used towards resistance and re/sistering after apartheid's end. 121 Chapter Two
Motherhood and Resistance: Sindiwe Magona
"My Sister-Mother, we are bound in this sorrow...We did not choose, we are the chosen" (Magona, Mother to Mother 201).
"We as mothers need to unite for the good of our children and the future of South Africa" - Black Sash slogan (Qtd. in Fester 211).
"We put faith in the ability of women to be agents of social change" (Magona, Forced to Grow 131).
The Sharp End of the Knife: Mothers as Re/sisters
This chapter focuses on motherhood as a form of resistance and re/sistering in the texts of Sindiwe Magona. As Gertrude Fester has noted, motherhood in South Africa has often included an element of activism, particularly in response to gender-based oppression and violence: "In African contexts motherhood has been viewed as a platform of action around which women often become mobilized to improve their material conditions [...]. Activism and mobilization linked to motherhood deserves greater analysis and interpretation, especially in the South African context where historically women have mobilized and organized as mothers" (199). The resistance of mothers in both activism and literature has had an impact on the social position of the mother. In her literary work, Magona illuminates how that social position has been constructed and she suggests how it may change.
Representations of motherhood in South African literature often depict the link between motherhood and resistance. Cherry Clayton argues that black South African women's writing, drawing on African feminism, brings together the two adages: "a woman's place is in the struggle" and "the child's mother always grabs the sharp end of 122 77 the knife" (27). The latter adage connotes self-sacrifice but also toughness and the ability to withstand pain.78 In Sindiwe Magona's Mother to Mother, a woman named
Mandisa represents these adages: willing to make sacrifices for her children, yet caught
up in the painful politics of apartheid South Africa, Mandisa is continually grabbing the
sharp end of the knife. The knife is a particularly important symbol in the novel as it is
the weapon used by Mandisa's son to kill a white student activist. In this fictionalized
account of the death of American Fulbright scholar Amy Biehl, who was killed by youths
protesting in the township of Guguletu, Magona shows how mothers are both resisters
and re/sisters. Through an imagined interaction between Mandisa and the mother of her
son's victim, Magona is able to draw connections between the women through the pain
they share and to represent the tragedy of the murder within the context of the tragedies
from which it arose: hopelessness, lack of education, and despair caused by apartheid. By
comparing experiences of motherhood under different political realities, Mother to
77 This proverb appears in several South African languages. Ellen Kuzwayo cites it as: "Mmangwana o tshwara thipa ka fa bogoleng," which she translates as "a child's mother catches the knife at the sharp end." Kuzwayo interprets this as a comment on a mother's willingness to "risk any danger to save or protect her off-spring" (Qtd. in Driver 225). 78 See Dorothy Driver's article, "Md-Ngoana O Tsoare Thipa ka Bohaleng - The Child's Mother Grabs the Sharp End of the Knife: Women as Mothers, Women as Writers." Other literary critics also cite the link between motherhood and resistance. Anthony O'Brien notes that in Cecily Lockett's collection of South African women's poetry, Breaking the Silence, "every poet focuses on the theme of mothers or the condition of motherhood in black South Africa - or at least mentions motherhood as a vehicle of resistance" (147). O'Brien links the proliferation of this theme to Ndebele's valorization of "tales of the ordinary," because motherhood is a role that invests women in the large-scale politics that affect them and their children while it is performed through the tasks of everyday life. For this reason O'Brien contends that "the political and social tensions which overwhelm everyday life make motherhood a role tantamount in importance to any full-time (male) political activist's" (149) (parentheses in original). Both Michel de Certeau (1984) and Henri Lefebvre (2002) include discussions of how motherhood exemplifies the politics and practices of everyday life, yet the link between tales of motherhood as "tales of the ordinary" and motherhood as a position of resistance has not been adequately theorized. This chapter attempts to address this link, and to investigate the ways in which motherhood as resistance has led to, and continues to depend upon, re/sistering. 123 Mother imagines how re/sistering may be possible even in the bleakest circumstances.
This empowers the maternal voice which has been silenced in much literature and political theory.
Critics such as Ann Laura Stoler (2002) and Anne McClintock (1997) have analyzed how colonization functioned through the control of the domestic realm, of sexual relationships and, in particular, of desire. Stoler claims that "imperial authority and racial distinctions were fundamentally structured in gendered terms" (42). Concerns over miscegenation and maintaining "racial purity" incorporated sexual relationships into the larger colonial power structure. Stoler makes the claim that Michel Foucault's The
History of Sexuality (along with his other texts that analyze how power is constructed) ignores race. 7Q It is not until Foucault begins to talk about "biopower" (or the assumption of state power through biological control) that racial questions emerge80 and even then, as
Stoler points out, Foucault's attention to how gender is constructed is insufficient (147).
Stoler argues for a genealogy of women as well as of race by suggesting that race and gender mutually enforce each other in the contest over "biopower." Unfortunately, she replicates the very mistake she critiques in Foucault's work by neglecting to take her analysis of the subjective agencies at stake far enough. She does not fully realize the connections between motherhood and the state's interest in the control of sexuality, race, and gender. In both Foucault and Stoler, genealogies are traced but mothers are erased.
79 Anne McClintock and Rob Nixon make similar critiques of Jacques Derrida's "Racism's Last Word." 80 Foucault's lectures are collected in Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the College de France, 1975- 1976. See lecture eleven for the relevant discussion of "biopower." 124 Other political theorists have similarly forgotten the mother in analyzing the arrangements of social power. Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer argues that Foucault would have developed a genealogy of "biopolitics" out of his "biopower" and so presents a theory of "bare life and sacred life" to extend Foucault's legacy. He fails, however, to
O| theorize how the mother is the provider and inhabitant of either or both forms of life.
The forgotten mother haunts postcoloniai and political theory. There are, however, notable exceptions.
Donna Haraway seeks to broaden the concept of motherhood so that it may fit with our changing political and social world. In theoretical works that engage with the work of
Foucault, Agamben and Marx, Haraway takes up the questions of race, sexuality, gender, and birth that these theorists ask in radically new ways. Her answers emerge from a unique "conception" of the mother. In "The Promises of Monsters" Haraway says she would like to "displace the terminology of reproduction with that of generation. Very rarely does anything get reproduced; what's going on is much more polymorphous than that" (69). This is an idea that expands upon Haraway's discussion of cyborgs in her pivotal essay "A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s" where she argues for the concept of "regeneration:"
I would argue that cyborgs have more to do with regeneration and are suspicious
of the reproductive matrix and of most birthing. For salamanders, regeneration
after injury, such as the loss of a limb, involves regrowth of structure and
81 There are other examples: Marx focuses on the means of production, but much less on the means of reproduction, in capitalist organization; Empire by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri treats postcoloniai societies to a thorough investigation, including "biopolitics," yet ignores the mothers - black and white - that gave birth to the subjects under colonial rule. 125 restoration of function with the constant possibility of twinning or other odd
topographical productions at the site of former injury. The regrown limb can be
monstrous, duplicated, potent. We have all been injured, profoundly. We require
regeneration, not rebirth [....] (38-39)
While the concept of the "cyborg" may not seem directly applicable to activism in South
Africa, Haraway's point is that growth and change demand a concept more complex and inclusive than "reproduction." The idea of regeneration connotes not just a replenishing of the generation but a hopeful change accompanying it. Her point that "we have all been injured, profoundly" signals that change is necessary and it is the mother, the bearer of the generation and of the regeneration, who embodies this potential for change.
Stoler suggests that colonial control was maintained through the "cultural dynamics of degeneration" (66). Life in the colonies became concerned primarily with avoiding the racial "degeneracy" thought to be a result of miscegenation. Apartheid is an extension of this type of cultural panic. The "immorality laws," which outlawed sexual and romantic unions between the races, is the final instance of "biopower" as it uses sexuality to enforce the hierarchizing of race. Haraway's "regeneration" makes for an exciting answer to fears of "degeneration." It takes the "injury" of biopower's claim on the body and redeploys it. When reproduction is targeted as the location of state power, regeneration is
82 Womanist critic Chikwenye Ogunyemi recalls being at a conference where a Western feminist was discussing cyborgs. In response, she says "the difference, technologically, between the Western world and the African world is so vast that your concerns are not our concerns....when you get involved in that type of conversation, then the African world, which has not yet battled malaria effectively, gets left out totally" (Qtd. in Arndt 11). However, the ways in which Haraway imagines her cyborg world of regeneration do apply to the bodies of mothers in Africa as well: the malarial body, the post-slavery body, and the domestic body represent some of the "profound" injuries in need of healing and regeneration. 126 required to fix it. This is certainly true in South Africa, where the anti-apartheid struggle produced what has been called a "lost generation." This is the generation
Magona represents in Mother to Mother: the boys and girls who organized school boycotts, marched in the streets, and joined the resistance movement. While they ultimately succeeded in overthrowing apartheid the cost was their education, youth, and sense of normalcy. The "lost generation" has been in need of regeneration. This chapter delves into how South African reconciliation ~ a slow process that cannot offer simple solutions -- has been partly brought about through this regeneration. Mothers act as the primary agents who regenerate, reconcile, and reconstruct in Magona's Mother to
Mother.
In order to promote a critical analysis of race, much research suggests that activist mothers were found only in black South African communities;83 however, there are those who argue that despite the divisive racial politics of apartheid, there were instances in which women came together across racial lines and mobilized as mothers to challenge the state.84 Motherhood and sisterhood are both relational identities; they are defined by familial relationships and positions. The relationship between motherhood and sisterhood is both caught up in these familial bonds and a challenge to them. This chapter explores
83 See for example Julia Wells and Gaitskell and Unterhalter. 84 Cherryl Walker argues that literature about women's resistance has minimized the historical connection between mothers in order to represent racial injustice (420). Walker claims there is "sufficient evidence of overlapping understandings, common concerns and even common experiences among women from diverse backgrounds to suggest that those who argue that there are [...] separate meanings of motherhood amongst blacks and whites have been driven more by political concerns to challenge white hegemony than the evidence concerning motherhood" (436). This limited view of motherhood needs to be regenerated into a view of motherhood as a position of strength, a position of feminist organizing, and a position of potential sisterhood. Walker concludes that "motherhood is an empowering identity for women and an appropriate issue around which to mobilize" (436). 127 how women, through the shared position of motherhood, can become sisters regardless of their racial and cultural backgrounds. This does not mark women as equal, nor does it suggest that all mothers live similar lives; a regenerated sense of sisterhood need not rely on sameness but rather solidarity. Rather than a reproduction of feminist
"sisterhood" which, in the history of feminism, has caused racialized women to feel eclipsed, this relationship makes room for difference. Reproduction connotes repeating what has come before; it is dependent on the past. But regeneration breaks from the painful past of feminist sisterhood and looks instead to the future - to what types of sisterly bonds can be assembled from aspects of what has come before and what is emerging. This sisterhood is not easy, but it is made possible by an element common to many mothers: prioritizing children, and therefore a better future, over other personal and political concerns.
Sister-Mother
Magona's novel Mother to Mother depicts regeneration through re/sistering, even in the most difficult circumstances. The novel tells the fictional story of an actual event.
In August 1993, Amy Biehl was in the Guguletu township outside of Cape Town helping to set up the country's first democratic elections. She herself was a re/sister: she had come to South Africa specifically to help the ANC defeat the apartheid government. Her
Fulbright scholarship application outlines her project of ensuring that women's rights were enshrined in the new South African constitution (Harlow 272). Shortly before she was meant to leave South Africa, Biehl was attacked and stabbed to death by four young men at an out of control student protest. The story made headlines around the world, 128 alerting the international community to the violence that had been escalating since
Mandela's release from prison. However, the story has also been one of hope: the Biehl family forgave their daughter's killers and supported their application for amnesty at the
Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) (Ross 145). The amnesty application, and its support from the Biehl family, reversed an eighteen year sentence that would have truncated any positive potential of the young men convicted. In gratitude, and to try to atone for Biehl's death, two of her killers now work for the Biehl foundation, devoting
oe their lives to telling Biehl's story and promoting reconciliation around the country.
Biehl's belief in a non-racial South Africa, coupled with her parents' willingness to forgive her attackers and to use Biehl's legacy to promote positive change within South
Africa, is an inspiring example of collectivity despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Not only do the Biehls continue Amy's work in South Africa, their efforts have been a well-publicized anchor to the project of reconciliation as established by the ANC government. This reconciliation effort is really about regenerating the bonds that Amy
Biehl helped to assemble but that were splintered by her murder.
Magona's Mother to Mother fictionalizes the aspects of reconciliation exemplified by the Biehl case through the construction of motherhood. As the title indicates, the novel is written as an address from one mother to another and thereby
85 See the Biehl Foundation website: www.amybiehl.org and Schatteman (9). 86 Sadly, Peter Biehl died in 2002 of cancer. The foundation continues under the leadership of Linda Biehl. Interestingly, the publication of Mother to Mother insinuated Magona into the real lives of the Biehls. The family appreciated the book's gesture of reconciliation and later asked Magona to deliver the eulogy at Peter Biehl's funeral. The Biehl foundation now requires new volunteers to read Mother to Mother prior to commencing their work in the organization (Shober 217). 129 presents motherhood as an important site for empathy and reconciliation. I posit that the narrative figures not only a possible reconciliation, but also a societal regeneration.
Speaking across their differences, this novel attempts to suture the divisions between mothers and to initiate a rebirth; the healing of the mother signifies the healing of her future progeny. Mother to Mother is an act of creation which both figures and initiates a regenerative procreation. Mandisa, the mother of one of the killers, is offering the mother of the deceased some context so that she may better understand and possibly come to terms with her daughter's death. In this way, Magona links reconciliation and re/sistering.
Magona prefaces the novel with a statement that her motivation to write the novel stemmed from the fact that while everyone knew Biehl's story, no one had heard the story of how her murderers came to be murderers (v). The narrative elucidates how the conditions of apartheid South Africa have forged such divisions between people, as well as between people and their humanity, so that they devalue their own and other people's lives. That being said, Magona suggests that reconciliation is possible in the novel because the mothers are linked by their mutual loss. The dialogue emphasizes this connection, for example, when Mandisa addresses the other mother: "my Sister-Mother,
Q«T we are bound in this sorrow... we did not choose, we are the chosen" (201). I chose this quotation for an epigraph to this chapter because the very address "Sister-Mother" encodes the relationship between women that motherhood produces. Magona's narrative
87 The preface of the novel makes clear that it is an account of the Biehl murder. But given that Biehl's name is not used in the narrative itself, and that the events have been fictionalized, I do not refer to the other mother specifically as Linda Biehl. The other mother is unnamed in the narrative - perhaps as a gesture of broadening the conversation to a larger audience of mothers - and so although the story implies the addressee is Biehl, I will refer to her as the "other mother," the "addressee," or in other ways that honour the separation between this fictional addressee and Linda Biehl. 130 suggests that, despite the harshest of circumstances, there is an element inherent to motherhood that is able to transcend division, enable empathy, and bind women
OQ together. The unexpected commonality that motherhood creates is the crux of the novel and consequently of this chapter as well. As I argue throughout this dissertation, such familial-type relationships between women, even across differences such as race and class, need not be abandoned. Sisterhood does not rely on sameness but rather on connection. While differences of power may occur in sisterly relationships, a bond may persist nevertheless. Thus the notion of sisterhood is regenerated through the connection between Mandisa and the other mother, and in turn that sisterly bond regenerates their broader cultural worlds as well.
Motherhood, on the other hand, implies a different relationship with power.
Mothers are authority figures, yet they are caught up in the intricacies of power that inform various familial constructs. Therefore, while mothers may have authority over their children, they may also be subject to patriarchal control from a male partner, other family member, or cultural expectations of motherhood and family life that are tied to a patriarchal tradition. The role of motherhood inherently contains a sense of power and authority, but that power may be muted in many different ways. In Mother to Mother, the social and political conflict which engulfs the children of both a white American family and a black South African family from the townships ultimately signals to the mothers that their power to protect their children is limited. Once Mandisa learns what her son has
88 The term "sister-mother" may be a play on the more familiar "sister-wife" which is a familial construct inherent to polygamous marriages. Magona's "sister-mother" centralizes the relationship between the women, whereas "sister-wives" are bound by a shared husband. 131 done she muses, "'but now, my Sister-Mother, do I help him hide? [...] will that mean I do not feel sorrow for your slain daughter? Am I your enemy? Are you mine?
What wrong have I done you... or you me?" (198). Mandisa wonders how to continue to be a mother to her child when the empathy for another woman might outweigh the empathy for that child.
Interestingly, Magona's fictional re/sistering is reflected in reality as well. When
Biehl's killers were granted amnesty the mother of one of them stated that it gave her no SO joy because she was consumed by the grief of Biehl's mother. Mandisa's term "Sister-
Mother" addresses this connection between mothers. Although the role of mother is defined by each woman's relationship with her children, empathy for other mothers can sometimes overshadow even the connection between mother and child. The mothers of
Biehl's killers, real and fictional, express an inability to prioritize their sons over their victim's mother. For these women, their primary role as mothers becomes qualified by a new and strange sisterhood that emerges out of the loss of their children and the empathy and reconciliation that grows from that loss. Being a "sister-mother" comes to supersede other aspects of their identities.
In this way, Mother to Mother can be considered "motherist" literature.
Motherism in the South African context has been associated with the anti-apartheid resistance movements of the twentieth-century.90 Nomboniso Gasa defines motherist
89 This occurs in a scene in the documentary Long Night's Journey into Day which follows several stories from the TRC. 90 The term was coined by Julia Wells in her influential "The Rise and Fall of Motherism as a Force in Black Women's Resistance Movements." 132 movements as "movements that are shaped by the women's identity as mothers, which are often women and mother-centred in their political approach" (226).
Unfortunately, motherism has been a site of division between white and black South
African women. Some felt that under apartheid the racial struggle should supersede
gender struggle while others argued that the intersecting oppressions of race and gender, as they inform women as mothers in South Africa, were mutually constitutive; there was no separation between racial and gender oppression as they affected women under apartheid.91 This motivated many examples of women resisting together across races as
mothers through organizations such as Black Sash, the women's march of 1955, and on
local community levels through the apartheid years.92 Siphokazi Koyana suggests that
Mother to Mother is a fictional account of this type of motherist trans-racial work.
Magona transcends the polarizing discourses that have characterized black and white
mothers in both contemporary research on motherhood and motherism and in fictional
91 Julia Wells, for example, critiques motherist movements for being too focused on race. She concludes that "motherism is clearly not feminism. Women swept up in motherist movements are not fighting for their own rights as women, but for their rights as mothers [...] motherist movements must be recognized as limited in scope, duration and success in achieving their goals" (4-5). Conversely, Cherryl Walker describes such an argument as part of a trajectory of criticism that characterizes motherhood/motherism as being necessarily under patriarchal control. Because motherhood is defined by familial relations, and families are constructed in patriarchal cultures with patriarchal expectations, motherism is necessarily in "collusion with patriarchy" (420). Walker argues that this type of thinking robs motherist movements of the very agency they have successfully asserted within those patriarchal families and communities. To characterize mothers and motherist movements as having little power is a misrepresentation that ignores historical fact and experience (420-421). The debate continues with Gasa, who argues that there is a supposed historical "Berlin Wall between blackness and liberation struggle on the one hand and feminism on tine other" (Gasa 214). She, like Walker, is critical of Wells not only for furthering this view, which she argues is historically inaccurate (220), but for ignoring the successes of motherism in terms of both racial and gender progress. Walker and Gasa are among the few theorists who acknowledge both women's agency as mothers in motherist movements, and the multi-racial character of those movements. 92 See Gasa for more detail on Black Sash and the ANC women's charter's declaration that women as mothers must fight "side by side" (225). See also Cock's article in the same collection which suggests that "on occasion the identity of 'mother' was used to deepen connections between black and white women involved in the anti-apartheid struggle" (257). 133 representations of motherhood (25). Her novel is therefore a potential answer to the divisions between women. Through her portrayal of motherhood she engenders possibilities for motherist re/sistering as regeneration. Magona heals the bonds between mothers as a route towards greater societal transformation.
The term "re/sistering" implies both sisterhood and resistance. The resistance that arises from the mutual loss of these mothers is simply hope: by finding hope for other people's children, and using that hope to work towards change, the sister-mothers become re/sisters. They resist their own despair as well as the social conditions that caused it. When Mandisa laments that "we did not choose, we are the chosen" (201), she highlights the complex issue of choice and its relationship to hope and resistance in the text. While Mandisa appears to be denying both mothers' agency, she is in fact leaving space for its recuperation. Mandisa and her "sister-mother" do not choose the circumstances that engulf their children; they have been "chosen" to ameliorate them.
One scene early in the novel metaphorizes and foreshadows both the loss experienced by and connection between the mothers. The murder is precipitated by a political march organized by leaders of the student movement, including Mandisa's son Mxolisi. As the march comes upon a van that has been looted and set aflame, the crowd can see the writing on the side of the truck "& SONS" (15) begin to disappear until: SONS' too was gone. Had totally disappeared. Vanished from the charred flanks. On closer look, though, it could be seen, blanched like the picture on a photographer's negative" (16-17).
This palimpsest of "& SONS" mirrors the imprint left by both the murdered student and her killer; claimed by township violence, the memory of lost children remains as a 134 reminder of the destruction. Throughout the course of the novel the mothers who are united by this imprint, this memory of their children, reconcile. The reconciliation between those so far apart provides hope for reconciliation on a wider scale.93 In this way, Magona's narrative gestures towards societal regeneration through the reconciliation between mothers.
Pregnancy: Dislocation and Hope
An understanding of Magona's deployment of pregnancy in Mother to Mother is integral to an understanding of regeneration and its relationship with reconciliation in the novel. Pregnancy is a key literary trope: it figures hope, possibility, and rebirth. Mother to
Mother challenges that trope. For Mandisa, pregnancy is not a joyful experience. The novel likens Mandisa's pregnancy with her experience of apartheid, including its limiting of mobility, ambition, and well-being for black South Africans. The first paragraph of the novel is an admission of Mandisa's powerlessness: "People look at me as though I did it
[....] As though I can make this child do anything [....] Starting, if truth be known, from before he was conceived; when he, with a total lack of consideration if not downright malice, seeded himself inside my womb" (1). In this passage Mandisa rejects the blame she receives from community members; blame that reminds us that mothers take the brunt of responsibility for the actions of their children, yet their structural position in society does not afford them the power to control those children. Moreover, this portrayal of conception is unique in its violent imagery and the anger it expresses. Any
93 The novel makes subtle claims about how mothers engender the regeneration of their destroyed community. There are two references to women's/mother's groups (14,94) which remind the reader that the violence of the novel is contrasted by women working together to create rather than destroy. This creative impulse inherent to motherhood (creation as it is linked with procreation) is regenerative. 135 stereotypical image of the nurturing, glowing, happy mother is overturned here.
Mandisa equates her experience of pregnancy with a total loss of control. Her lack of control is repeated in her disclosure to the other mother that immediately follows: "[...] you have to understand my son. Then you'll understand why I am not surprised he killed your daughter. Nothing my son does surprises me any more. Not after that first unbelieving shock, his implanting himself inside me; unreasonably and totally destroying the me I was... the me I would have become" (1-2). Magona positions Mxolisi as the agent who implants himself and Mandisa as a victim who is destroyed. In comparing the moment of conception to the moment Mxolisi commits homicide, Mandisa treads dangerous ground. The grieving mother whom Mandisa addresses may not welcome this likening of birth to death. However, in creating this comparison, Magona highlights that, given their lack of education, opportunity, and social power, pregnancy was as disorienting as grief for many mothers in apartheid South Africa.
Magona therefore valorizes and validates motherhood both as an important social role and a position that enables re/sistering while simultaneously subverting the myth that motherhood is definitively fulfilling. Naomi Wolfs Misconceptions: Truth, Lies, and the
Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood details how feminist movements have been working in the last few decades against hundreds of years of "propaganda" concerning pregnancy, the birth process, and the institution of motherhood. Wolf is not alone in her feminist critique of how motherhood reinforces highly restrictive gender expectations for women. Critics such as Andrea O'Reilly explore the interactions between discourses of motherhood and the expectations and limitations for women, including the specificities 136 for women of colour.94 Magona valorizes motherhood as a position of value and a site of/for resistance without constructing an idealized motherhood. Her narrative also re- centres the mother in the discourse of pregnancy. The experience of pregnancy does not generally eclipse the subjectivity of the mother, but the discourse of pregnancy does.
Magona highlights the expectant mother rather than the expected child. By re-centring the mother in the discourse of pregnancy and birth, Magona regenerates the way we view societal regeneration.
The way that Mandisa connects early motherhood with a sense of powerlessness is representative of the social conditions of mothers who are not sufficiently empowered by their cultures or socio-economic positions to make their own choices. At first, neither the reader nor the addressee can understand the meaning of Mandisa's feelings towards her pregnancy. Clearly Mandisa connects Mxolisi's conception with his later actions, but it is unclear why his "implanting himself' should be "unreasonable," and it seems strange for a novel, whose title suggests the importance of motherhood, to equate pregnancy with death. The reader's confusion arises again when Mandisa repeats verbatim the above phrase equating Mxolisi's conception with her own destruction (88). The reader is dislocated in much the same way as Mandisa. Like her character, we do not initially understand the violence of the conception. Magona later reveals that Mandisa's pregnancy was not only accidental but happened in spite of all odds. Adhering to her mother's strict rules concerning pre-marital sex Mandisa had remained virginal. She had, however, engaged in sex-play with her boyfriend. She is shocked by her pregnancy
94 See "A Politics of the Heart." 137 especially when, upon inspection by the women of her community, she is found to have her hymen still intact. The village midwife declares that Mandisa has been "jumped into!" (112) by her lover's sperm.95 The repetition of Mandisa's quotation in a long section about the social conditions in apartheid South Africa equates the unwanted pregnancy with life under apartheid. The poverty, racist oppression, police brutality, and difficult family life reinforce why Mandisa would not have made the choice to get pregnant.
When choices and opportunities are limited, regeneration seems impossible.
Mandisa continually refers to pregnancy as a burden. She describes girls who die, who leave school, or who are forced to marry due to unwanted pregnancies (95, 152). Mandisa reveals that she is compelled to marry Mxolisi's father, thus souring her relationship with him, as well as ending the dreams of both sets of their parents. The "jump" that leads to
Mandisa's pregnancy is, therefore, part of a trajectory describing a lack of power women have over their reproduction and familial roles. Mandisa does not choose to get pregnant and is therefore at the will of Mxolisi, her unborn child. Mxolisi is thereby equated with
Mandisa's family and community whose strict views of motherhood limit her choices once pregnancy occurs. The power balance between mother and child is destabilized from the moment of conception; Mxolisi's will subverts that of his mother. For Mandisa, pregnancy and motherhood are not joyful events but events that cause a profound dislocation.
95Meg Samuelson interprets this virgin-pregnancy as characterizing Mandisa as a "mater dolorosa." Her view is that Magona's representation of the virgin Mary is excessive, and therefore destabilizes a gendered construction of the sacrificing mother through its mimicry (168). Samuelson's interpretation is a useful critique of how motherhood reinforces expectations of women. 138 Mandisa links her accidental and bizarre conception with apartheid's forced relocations of black South Africans to the townships. Mandisa is forced to go live with her grandmother; she describes her forced move as being "banished to a far-away desert"
(99).96 Upon the news that she is pregnant Mandisa reflects, "everything I had ever known had been bulldozed, extinguished, pulverized" (114). The same imagery is used to describe her childhood memories of forced relocation from Blouvlei to Guguletu, the township where the murder takes place: Mandisa recalls the bulldozing of houses (64).
Pregnancy traditionally connotes happy expectation but Mandisa links pregnancy with the destruction of the sense of home and safety that she experienced in moving to
Guguletu. The township is a place where community ties were severed and replaced with violence (66 - 70). Upon their relocation, Mandisa's family's expectations and opportunities are changed forever. So too with her pregnancy — Mandisa's life is bulldozed.
The sense of dislocation further emphasizes the connection between the mothers.
Mandisa's narrative asks, "What was she doing here, your daughter? [...] Guguletu? Who would choose to come to this accursed, God forsaken place? Not an army of mad elephants would drag me here, if I were her. As for myself, I came to Guguletu borne by a whirlwind [...] a violent scattering of black people, a dispersal of the government's making. So great was the upheaval more than three decades later, my people are still reeling from it" (48). The imagery of birth is repeated in this passage. Guguletu itself is
96 Mandisa's dislocation reminds us of Lindiwe in Have You Seen Zandile? who also experiences pregnancy as destruction. The play, so much about exile and being removed from one's home, mirrors Mother to Mother in its portrayal of these themes. See the first chapter of this dissertation. 139 "borne" out of a violent whirlwind. The forced relocations' "violent scattering of people" ultimately affects the white young woman who, driving home two friends from university, is herself lost and dislocated in Guguletu's violent desolation. Barbara Harlow suggests that Mandisa's question '"what was she doing there?' applies not only to Biehl but to Mandisa, who was brought to the township in the apartheid years of group areas acts, forced removals, influx control, and pass laws" (Qtd. in Agosin 268). The narrative therefore signals that the women, despite their differences, are similarly lost and out of place. This connection is the basis for the narrative of re/sistering between the mothers.
Magona portrays apartheid's forced removals not only to reveal the sorrows of
Mandisa's pregnancy, but also to highlight how they led to the emergence of the "lost generation." In protest to the appalling conditions of the townships and "Bantu education," students rose up in large numbers.97 Mandisa notes that "in 1976 students rose in revolt and, before long, Bantu Education had completely collapsed [....] Boycotts, strikes and indifference have plagued the schools in the last two decades. Our children
AO have paid the price" (72). Mandisa tells the other mother that while the protests were instrumental in bringing down apartheid by "making the country ungovernable" (73), the result is that "we parents have become toothless dogs whose bark no one heeds" (73); the
"lost generation," in their resistance to apartheid, became powerful enough to resist parental control as well. Magona resists both the oppressions that forced children into
97 See my introduction for some of this history and see the next chapter for an analysis of the student movement. 98 There is no doubt that, even before the boycotts, Bantu education did little to empower its students. In the words of Ann Stoler, the project of colonial education is often about "learning one's place, learning one's race" (119). 140 revolutionary activity, and those students whose disrespect for their parents grew as a result. Critiquing anti-apartheid resistance by highlighting the complexities it produced has never been particularly welcome in South Africa. Magona herself was targeted by student groups for condemning the tactic of education boycotts even as she participated in anti-apartheid resistance work. 00 The critique is important, however, for voicing the position of the mother, she for whom resistance is necessary, but for whom the cost of her child is too great.
Ultimately, far away from the violence, a white American woman's own hopes and expectations of motherhood become caught up in the same "whirlwind" Mandisa describes. The murder effects an unlikely union between the two mothers. Mandisa has already articulated that the two mothers are "bound in their sorrow," but here she connects the socio-political circumstances that led to their sorrow with her own dashed hopes that came with her pregnancy. Magona's decision to write Mother to Mother arose from a different variation on pregnancy. She says, in reference to the Biehl case, that upon discovering "my own family had been close friends with the mother of one of the killers I became pregnant with the pain of this mother" (Qtd. in West). The phrase
"pregnant with [her] pain" is important because it emphasizes the collectivity between mothers that the book forges. Again, the metaphor of pregnancy is transformed from one of joyful expectation to one of sorrow. What is delivered from that strange pregnancy,
99 See Magona's two texts of life-writing To My Children's Children and Forced to Grow for a description of these attacks. 141 however, is not a novel of sorrow but one that continues to provide the possibility for hope.
Mandisa laments that, though her son is responsible for his actions, his life in the township provided "stark sign-posts to his tomorrow. Hope still-born in his heart" (203).
Pregnancy and birth are not happy experiences in the townships and Mandisa's own unhappy pregnancy is connected with the "still-born" hope in her son's heart. Magona, through Mandisa, articulates that hopelessness leads to violence. But hers is not a hopeless narrative. As I have been arguing, Mandisa reaches out because her role as a mother inspires her feelings of empathy for the other mother. In Magona's own life, and in the fictional world she creates, mothers become pregnant with one another's pain, but out of that pain arises dialogue whereby women become engaged in each other's struggles. Magona describes hopelessness, but she grants and acknowledges the agency mothers have in inspiring activism and creating change.
Reconciliation as Regeneration
Magona connects women through their maternal experiences. The relationships between these sister-mothers are indicative of profound personal and cultural growth yet some of these connections remain uneasy. The dislocation that Mandisa experiences as a result of her pregnancy is mirrored later in the novel as she becomes a domestic worker.
For Mandisa, finding solidarity with white women is as profoundly unnerving as her pregnancy was. Both examples show, however, that the lack of choice Mandisa experiences is inherently tied to her experiences of love and forgiveness. Part of
Mandisa's dislocation in pregnancy came from having to submit to the patriarchal control 142 of Mxolisi's father's family. They limited her freedom, they forced her to work for them with long hours and little support, and they even took the right to name her child away from her (136). The name they assign him, Mxolisi, means "he who would bring peace" (136). The irony of this is neutralized only by the hope of peace between the mothers.
While Mother to Mother is about the Biehl murder, it is much more focused on the relationships between women in South Africa and on mothers transnationally. Magona's portrayal of Mandisa's lack of control with her in-laws resonates with her lack of control once she is a domestic worker. "Madams" (the common term for the female employers of domestic workers under apartheid) had similar paternalistic control. Here too, women worked long hours for little compensation, often being called names that were not their own. Mandisa's madam calls her "Mandy" because she says she cannot "say any native names because of the clicks." Mandisa rejects the dismissal: "My name is Mandisa. MA-
NDI-SA. Do you see any click in that?" (20). She condemns the renaming and the paternalistic control it signifies. Meg Samuelson adds that "Ndi" is the Xhosa word for
"I" and that, in this exclamation, the "I" is placed between Mandisa's two central identities: mother and South African (169). Magona highlights how mothers may have an impact on the country but also how they are met with limitations. The system of domestic work, for many women the only opportunity to support their families, meant an absence of mothers from their own families and homes. Many were therefore unable to effectively supervise their own children; this is another cause of the "lost generation." It is one of the ironies of apartheid South Africa that the privileged white children, who learned their 143 racial superiority from every social structure and institution to which they were exposed, were raised by their black "maids." However, as with her pregnancy, Mandisa finds that dislocation can lead to resolution; she learns to love her son and she learns to find connection with her madam and with other mothers. Both the regeneration of the country and the recuperation of the "lost generation" are born of these connections.
In explaining the circumstances leading up to the murder, Mandisa makes clear that the production of the "lost generation" is the responsibility not simply of the parents of that generation but also of the social circumstances — poor education, lack of resources and opportunities, systemic inequity and oppression — that allow some children to flourish while others flounder. The novel therefore implies that children are the communal responsibility of all, across race and class. Prior to the publication of Mother to Mother, Magona makes this point:
The government of South Africa was waging war against African families. If the
father was working it was never for enough wages. So the mother had also to be
working; the children were being brought up by whom? And today we wonder
that all these people are lost. We were not there. The parents were not there to
raise their children. I wanted to explain this to the Biehls. (Qtd. in Atwell
"Interview," 282).
Mother to Mother highlights how creating a just world is essential for the well-being of all children. In Magona's preface she writes that the world of Biehl's killers was an
"environment [that] failed to nurture them in the higher ideals of humanity" and therefore it turned its children into "lost creatures of malice and destruction" (v). The "lost 144 generation" is portrayed here as fundamentally dehumanized: "creatures" without
"humanity" have no choice but to be destructive. They have not received proper care; they require regeneration. Procreation is often overlooked as an act of creation, and part of the maternal role is to foster creativity versus destruction in her children. Mother to
Mother details the effects of an inability to do so. Mandisa worries about being absent for her children who, during school boycotts in particular, are left without much guidance.
One scene features Siziwe, another of Mandisa's sons, being upset that Mandisa has to go to work in the morning. Mandisa tells him he is old enough to fix his own breakfast and he replies, "But we miss your hand" (8). Mandisa thinks, "I swallow my guilt. What would happen if I stayed home doing all the things a mother's supposed to do? We couldn't possibly survive on what Dwadwa makes... we hardly make it as it is [...]" (8).
The metonymy of the hand in this passage reflects all of the ways a mother's touch has an impact on her child. It is the hand that clothes, feeds, and washes. It is the hand that soothes and expresses affection. It is sometimes the hand of discipline. When those hands are occupied spending long hours caring for someone else's children, the consequence is that her own child experiences a loss - of love, of care, of structure. This loss on a large scale is a significant part of the production of the "lost generation."
Despite the overwhelming oppression of apartheid, and the system of domestic labour that it created, women found ways to parent effectively through sisterly activity. In order to combat the harmful effects on the "lost generation" women formed community networks that supported working mothers. Siphokazi Koyana calls this communal mothering "a culture of resistance" (28) because it is a way for women to subvert 145 patriarchal family constructs and to act collectively to transcend class-based barriers.
It is a radical type of support between women that arises out of the shared concerns of motherhood. Motherhood is the motivation for work and struggle, but it is a point of radicalization for women as well. For this reason, Koyana argues that motherhood in
Mother to Mother is "a role that is at once a site of oppression and resistance" (32). The bonds created between "maids and madams" are an interesting illustration of this complex conception of motherhood. The domestic worker in the home of her white employer offered grounds for sisterly activity, particularly activity motivated by the shared concerns of motherhood.100 The novel explicates Mandisa's lack of power in her relationship with her madam, but it also reflects on her mother's madam who "was a resourceful lady; always came through at times of stress" (149). Magona does not depict white women as uniformly ignorant and she always leaves room for the possibility of coalition between white and black women.101 The complex interaction between
"madams" and "maids" is one form of reconciliation/resistering that regenerates the possibilities for motherhood, for mothers and, by extension, for their children.
100 For an historical analysis of "Maids and Madams" see Cock. For a detailed analysis of the discourses of race, class, psychoanalysis and gender in the relationships between '"Massa and Maids" see McClintock's chapter by that name in Imperial Leather. Another critical viewpoint comes from a comic strip, "Maids and Madams," which has long been a source of political and social commentary on South Africa; it centres on some of these themes. 101 The complicated relationship between "maids and madams" is the subject of Magona's long story "Women at Work" which comprises the first section of Living, Loving and Lying Awake at Night. This composite of domestic workers' voices portrays madams organizing to end apartheid, giving their domestic workers education, housing, support, procuring abortions for their domestic worker's daughter, and other sisterly acts. This is not an easy sisterhood, but the narrative complicates what seem to be "black and white" power relationships. The madams all have a large amount of social power because of their race. However, because they are women, they are also sometimes portrayed as disempowered. Some are being abused by their husbands; some are terribly dependent on their domestic workers and lack independence. This is not to suggest that white "madams" suffer equally to black women. However, the common experience of gender oppression does affect the power constructs that inform the relationships between women. Magona allows these commonalities to open the possibility for connection and solidarity. 146 Its emphasis on dialogue, reconciliation, and change places Mother to Mother very clearly in the context of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC).102 The
TRC allowed both victims and perpetrators of "gross human rights violations" to testify.
The goal was to allow victims to find solace through testimony and to allow the perpetrators to ask for forgiveness. To gain amnesty, perpetrators needed to provide "full disclosure."103 All of this is reflected in Magona's novel, whereby telling the story of the perpetrator is meant to help the victim heal. Magona's preface to the novel concludes: "In
Mother to Mother, the killer's mother, bewildered and grief-stricken, dredges her memory and examines the life her son has lived [...] and hopes that an understanding of that and of her own grief might ease the other mother's pain" (vi). The TRC saw many
"bewildered and grief-stricken" mothers come to tell the stories of their children - children lost, killed, or those that had become violent themselves. The TRC asked them to "dredge their memory" because telling one's story was to ease both individual and collective pain.104
While Mother to Mother is set during the time immediately leading up to and following Biehl's death in 1993, the novel's publication in 1998 followed two years of highly publicized amnesty and victim's hearings, as well as the publication of the first
102 Chapter one includes a broader historical introduction to the TRC. 103 One of several controversies regarding the TRC was that perpetrators did not need to apologize or express regret. The only condition for amnesty was full disclosure. 104 The topic of memory as it concerns testimony is weighty. Memory is unreliable, yet often it is the only access to the past that remains. Ann Laura Stoler's chapter "Memory Work in Java" discusses the use of memory in purging the past, especially for women/mothers. Her findings resonate with the TRC and its process. She concludes "[...] that the colonial is ever-present in postcolonial lives; that postcolonial subjectivity by definition pivots on the transition from the colonial to the postcolonial; that there are subaltern circuits in which colonial critiques are lodged; that there is resistance in the smallest of gestures and the very lack of gesture at all; and that telling of the colonial past is a therapeutic act" (203). 147 volume of the TRC's final report. Renee Schatteman points out that 1998 marked both Mother to Mother's publication and the decision to grant Biehl's killers amnesty at the TRC (1). This confluence of events makes it difficult to read one text without the other. The fact that the Biehls spoke at the commission and publicly forgave Amy's killers, in addition to promoting the Biehl foundation's work towards reconciliation, education, and prisoner rehabilitation (Harlow, "Legitimate Targets" 279), also unites the novel's theme of reconciliation with the TRC. Magona's novel employs the TRC's goal of using narrative and telling one's story as the means of reconciling with others. While
Mandisa, the mother-narrator, is not the killer she tells the story of her life and her son's life to offer an explanation for, and to give context to, the murder. Memory, history, and storytelling were at the heart of the TRC and they are at the heart of Mother to Mother.
Importantly, however, Magona does a better job of introducing a feminist point of view into her novel than the TRC did at the proceedings.
Many of the women who testified at the TRC were freedom fighters, or mothers of freedom fighters, and the interaction between motherhood and resistance emerged through their testimonies. Unfortunately, the TRC report perpetuated gender stereotyping in its interpretation of women's stories which had implications for its representation of women and of mothers in particular. In her writing about the testimony of female activists, Barbara Russell argues that the TRC's interpretation or portrayal of their testimonies "further marginalizes] women's activism by reinforcing a sense of their vulnerability and their primary importance as mothers and wives" (51). Women did choose to emphasize their roles as mothers and wives but they often did so in order to 148 highlight how these roles were related to their activism. As Russell notes, the TRC report blurs the sense by which motherhood is a position of struggle and strength and it reinforces a stereotypical view of motherhood as tied to weakness.
Zubeida Jaffer exemplifies how the TRC promoted a problematic view of motherhood which impeded reconciliation rather than spurred it forward. A well-known journalist and resistance fighter under apartheid, Jaffer was arrested and detained. While in detention she was pregnant and, as an interrogation tactic, she was given something to drink which she was told would "burn the baby from her body."105 Despite the violent threats, she thought it would be better to undergo a forced miscarriage than to succumb to the demands of her interrogators because:
If [her baby] is brought into this world, thinking that- that her mother gave this
information so that she could live, that's a heavy burden for a child to carry. So I
think that, that unborn baby inside of me, made it possible for me to be strong
enough to [...] not to give in to their threats. So eventually he [...] didn't actually
give me the chemical to drink, when I said that I didn't want to give them any
information, and I was a step past him that there was nothing that he could really
do.106
105 Quotations are from TRC transcripts which can be found at: http://www.doj.gov.za/trc/trc_frameset.htm (accessed January 12,2009) unless otherwise cited. 1061 have included this conclusion to Jaffer's statement even though it is ungrammatical because it makes clear the point that she felt she had achieved victory over her torturers. Unclear moments in testimony can be attributed to either the unrehearsed and spontaneous nature of oral testimony or the complexities of simultaneous translation. I chose to maintain the integrity of the official transcript by including the quotation without editing. 149 Jaffer's detention, torture, and psychological trauma are quoted in the TRC report (4:
292-3,4:300,4:302, 3:409)107 as are her feelings of guilt about others in the community and her own internalized feelings of worthlessness (1:180,4:303). Nowhere does the
TRC report mention her incredible resistance and that, ultimately, she attributes her strength to resist to her unborn child. The binary the TRC established between "victims" and "perpetrators" led the TRC to selectively omit stories of victims as resisters. Jaffer's testimony clearly makes the link between pregnancy and a desire to subvert the apartheid state; her goal was societal regeneration in the interest of her unborn child. The commission's report could have created a very different view of motherhood and womanhood if it had incorporated stories of mothers as resisters. Instead, motherhood is depicted solely as a site of vulnerability rather than strength. Meg Samuelson makes similar claims in her analysis of Jaffer's story. She says that, contrary to the view taken by the TRC, "maternity is presented as empowering the self' (186). She continues,
"Jaffer does not validate her political activism through an appeal to maternity. Rather, she draws attention to the ways in which her maternity became a field of struggle between her and the apartheid state, a struggle from which she emerges victorious" (186).108
Magona similarly actualizes motherhood as a field of struggle. Both mothers, addresser and addressee, are affected by South Africa's violent response to repression; their personal losses reflect political tensions. Yet the reconciliation in Mother to Mother is more effective than that in the TRC report because motherhood is upheld as a site of
107 All references to the TRC final report will be cited as: volume: page(s). 108 Samuelson's analysis of Jaffer also concludes with a powerful anecdote about re/sistering: Jaffer and her female warder were able to connect and become allies despite the immense power differences between them (190). 150 power from which women can empathize rather than elided to promote a view of women as victims.109
Although she is not a freedom fighter, we can read Mandisa as a resister. In
Women and War Jacklyn Cock asserts that, given the totality of the apartheid experience,
"the boundary between front and rear cannot be sharply demarcated" (164). Indeed, apartheid created a very different type of "home front" whereby the violence of the state was exacted over people's homes (one example is the forced relocations) and every aspect of domestic life. As we have seen, motherist movements fought back in various ways. Mandisa's role as a mother moves her to try to create a more peaceful country.
While the conversation from mother to mother is intimate and private, it draws upon the socio-political constructions that led to the mothers' mutual loss. In this way, Mandisa's outreach is reflective of the TRC: she tells her story for personal and political restitution.
Mandisa negotiates a form of reconciliation that allows motherhood to stand as both a motivation and a vehicle for personal and political action.
Because it is mother and woman-centred, Mother to Mother voices the connection between motherhood and reconciliation in a way that the TRC was not able to do: it reinscribes the power of women to reconcile, re/sister, and resist. This is why David
Jefferess' Postcolonial Resistance refers to reconciliation in Mother to Mother as
"resistance." Magona resists the discourse that continues to divide "victim" and
109 Shirley Gunn is another powerful mother who testified at the TRC. Her narrative, also configured by the TRC's final report as a narrative of victimhood, is a good example of a mother's resistance. She scared off her warders and interrogators by expressing her breast milk in her cell, she kept her child with her in prison for sixteen months and, upon release, she described her need to be around her own mother and other women in the resistance. She famously said at the TRC: "Sometimes we have to seize being a woman and take advantage of that." 151 "perpetrator" even as it seeks to produce reconciliation. I would like to extend
JefFeress' idea by positioning the resistance that comes from reconciliation between mothers as regeneration, a regeneration that the TRC tried to initiate but never fully realized. Mothers often unite over their love for their children and the resulting hope for the future. It is this shared love and hope that enable South African women to move past the politics of blame into the politics of solidarity and toward a societal reconstruction.110
Magona uses fiction to fully forge the forgiveness that the TRC attempted to produce. In addition to the reconciliation between mothers, for which the novel strives, it also inscribes Mandisa's ability to forgive her own son. Still upset and confused over the manner of his conception, Mandisa approaches childbirth with ambivalence. Upon experiencing "the terrible pain that tore me apart" she decides that "I hated this child... hated him or her with a venom too fierce ever to die" (127). Yet once she breastfeeds she changes her mind: "The minute I put his puckered, fumbling lips against my breast [...] I forgave him" (127).111 The politics of both resistance and forgiveness by mothers were demonstrated at the TRC. Magona represents those politics whereas the TRC disavowed them. The metaphor of childbirth is an apt one for the TRC because it connotes a hopefulness emerging out of pain. Magona uses metaphors of motherhood (pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding) to illustrate these politics. Because the language of childbirth
110 Carol Boyce Davies discovers "a cluster of novels in which the mother construct seemed to be foregrounded and linked to the social and emotional reconstitution of black women in their communities" (44 - 45). Mother to Mother reconstitutes, or regenerates, both black women and their white/transnational counterparts. 111 Shirley Gunn used breastmilk as a tactic of resistance and Mandisa uses it as a means to forgiveness. 152 corresponds with reconciliation I argue that these images are not reproductive in nature (continuing what has come before) but rather regenerative (creating a better future).
Eventually, Mandisa realizes that forgiveness does not fully encapsulate her feeling after all. It is "oneness" she experiences (127). Oneness with her child reflects the spirit of ubuntu.112 Often translated as "I am because you are" Mandisa, in her role as mother, exemplifies ubuntu; she begins to feel she exists because of her son. Later, when it seems that "ubuntu takes flight" (76) in the townships, leading to violence, ubuntu ultimately lives on because the mothers cannot stop feeling oneness with their children.
Mandisa prays, "God, you know in my heart I am not saying my child shouldn't be punished for his sin. But I am a mother, with a mother's heart. The cup you have given me is too bitter to swallow. The shame. The hurt of the other mother. The young woman whose tender life was cut so cruelly short. God, please forgive my son" (4). This quotation demonstrates that, while Mandisa does not condemn her son, she cannot ignore the pain of her "sister-mother." This mirrors the TRC's goal of avoiding punitive justice in favour of reconciliation through narrative and empathy. Mandisa unites her grief and shame with the "hurt of the other mother" but she continues to love her son. The narrative that subsequently unfolds is offered as "full disclosure" of her son's circumstances so that forgiveness may indeed become possible. All of this relies upon the sisterly relationship that motherhood fosters. By reinserting a woman's perspective and experience into the
112 Ubuntu can mean "a person is a person through other people." It is a concept originating from African women's traditions and it was central to the TRC's goals. See my first chapter for more on ubuntu and how re/sistering is a contemporary form of ubuntu for women. 153 concept of ubuntu Magona is able to create a more complete type of reconciliation and regeneration than the TRC. Ubuntu and the "oneness" Mandisa describes are elusive concepts but they carry tremendous potential for regeneration. Magona's narrative indicates that the profundity of the connection between mother and child, and between mothers who understand that profundity uniquely, inspires a type of reconciliation that can regenerate individual and family, the maternal and the social sphere.
Reconciliation and the Nation
The TRC's goal was reconciliation, but its imagined vehicle for that reconciliation was the collection of a national memory through individual narratives. The commission hoped that, in creating a collective history, a new nationalist sentiment could be established. This included Desmond Tutu's famous coinage of South Africa as "the rainbow nation." While the TRC interpolated women's testimonies into this national memory and narrative project the specificities of gender were either altered, as in the portrayal of "mother-as-victim" described above, or erased altogether. In the realm of the postcolonial the subject often stands for something else: a myth, a stereotype, a community, a nation, etc. 11o Feminist critiques of the TRC suggested that women were used only symbolically while their lived experience was ignored in order to formulate a large-scale history of apartheid and an emerging sense of nationhood. Magona makes a historical claim in Mother to Mother: even post-apartheid revisionist history has misunderstood or omitted the experience of women in general and mothers in particular.
113 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak's theory often articulates how the "subaltern" or the "third-world woman" is used symbolically in the very discourses that seek to express her. The TRC attempted to gather stories of the racialized past but did so at the expense of including women's experience.114 If the gathering of history was meant to produce a new
South African nation, the exclusion of women's narratives leads to an exclusion of women from effective and equal membership in the post-apartheid South African nation.
Many critics have described how South African nationalism post-apartheid has ignored or interpolated women. One of the most notable is Meg Samuelson who argues that, given the erasure of women in favour of promoting a national(ist) paradigm, the
"project of re-membering the nation dismembers women" (2). Samuelson's research on women and nationhood draws directly on Magona's writing. Samuelson argues that
Mother to Mother critiques the TRC by mimicking its formulation of "the mother as witness" (159). As a variation on the mother as victim, the "mother-witness" addresses the past through an explication of the loss and pain of her children. In this way the personal stands for the political in the mother-witness' testimony. The TRC reconstructed the hidden history of apartheid through the testimony of the mothers but then erased the personal connection, the motherly experiences, and the mode of women's testimony as mothers in its final report. Samuelson's critique of the TRC is that it relied on the image of the "mother-witness" to create a national narrative only to stereotype and sacrifice the validity of motherhood in its final portrayal. Magona, on the other hand, reifies the personal circumstances that inform the status and identity of motherhood and its influence on nation-building: "the fictional characters and autobiographical selves [...]
114 My chapter on Mhlophe discusses the TRC's women's hearings that were held as a result of the criticism that women's voices were being elided. Both chapters maintain that, despite efforts to include women, the female experience continued to be omitted or suppressed in the historical record created by the TRC. 155 re-enact the position of the mother-witness and, in so doing, both re-articulate and destabilize the dominant national narratives produced through the figure of Mother" (8).
Mandisa's act of speaking her story to the other mother replicates the mother-witness at the TRC but approaches it from an empathetic position. The TRC privileged reconciliation for the nation but Magona's more personal form of reconciliation, which emphasizes womanhood and motherhood, allows for a more holistic form of nation- building.
Nation-building efforts often rely on the cooperation of mothers as they are the bearers of future generations. This inextricable link between motherhood and nationhood makes motherhood a highly mediated and controlled sphere. Patricia Hill-Collins elaborates: "because women are capable of becoming mothers, women are central to three elements in nationalist thinking, namely, issues of sexuality and fertility, of motherhood, and of being symbols of the nation" (230). Women impart the "mother tongue," for example, and in other ways educate children into a sense of national identity.
Even etymologically the term 'nation' relies on the Latin natio: to be born (McClintock
IL 357). Unfortunately, nationhood's interest in motherhood does not mean better access for mothers to the privileges of belonging to a nation-state: "women are typically constructed as the symbolic bearers of the nation but are denied any direct relation to national agency" (IL 354). The relationship between the construct of the "mother of the nation" and the realities of mothers within the nation is striking.
In South Africa, the ways in which black and white women were interpolated into projects of statehood are surprisingly similar. McClintock critiques "Afrikaner 156 nationalism" in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries for using the domestic symbolism of the "Volksmoeder" (folk-mother or folks' mother) to further its characterization of white South African nationalism (IL 378). McClintock argues that the
Volksmoeder's construction through domesticity symbolized and helped to promote a sense of white control over the land in South Africa. The domestic female-headed
"home" became symbolic of, and justification for, an Afrikaner-led "homeland."
McClintock argues that these Afrikaner women were both empowered by this move, as their domestic position was valorized, but they were also subjugated through the interpolation of their roles as mothers into a patriarchal nationalist movement that granted them little agency. This very contradiction applies to the criticisms above of motherist movements in the twentieth-century in which black women fought for "national liberation" under apartheid they but did not assert a need for women or mother-centred rights. Again, mothers become part of nationalist projects which then deny women equal participation. Of course there are differences in the power and privilege of Afrikaner women at the turn of the century and black women in the 1950s. I do not wish to imply sameness between either women's movement or nationalist movement. However, there is a parallel in the ways in which mothers were subsumed into nationalist projects which remained patriarchal in aim and effect. Women's agency was never completely denied; motherist movements were indeed powerful and effective and women have acted as fierce freedom fighters, as I argue above. Nonetheless, the discourses of motherhood as defined by nationalism have functioned to similarly disempower black and white women. 157 Instead of organizing around such commonalities, however, mothers have been continually divided by a politic of difference.115
Mothers have been pitted against each other in these racial and nationalist struggles. The regeneration that leads to reconciliation reaches beyond the divisions and utilizes the creative impulse of motherhood — the birth, growth, development, and hopefulness - that goes into regeneration and toward national and societal rebirth.
Regeneration stands in opposition to the control of mothers that has occurred historically through nationalist paradigms that promulgated fears of "degeneration." Essentialist racism meant that racial "bloodlines" had to remain discrete; sexuality and reproduction were thus part of the apparatus of the state, wherein fears over maintaining racial purity meant that controlling desire, sexuality, and reproduction became central to colonialist paradigms and administrations. This is why it is imperative to deconstruct the trope of the
"mother of the nation." Ann Stoler's understanding of Foucault's "biopower" is particularly useful when focused on mothers: "'Biopower' is identified as having two distinct forms: one concerned with the life of the individual, the other with that of species. It is the micromanagement of the individual body and the macrosurveillance of
115 For example, Gaitskell and Unterhalter describe how the Afrikaner's use of motherhood as nationalism compares with motherist movements for national liberation such as those in the ANC (58). They describe white motherhood as "conservative" but black motherhood as "progressive." This is a reduction of both the subjugation and the agency that define women's experiences as mothers in any nationalist project. Cherryl Walker critiques Gaitskell and Unterhalter's dualism: "I reject the starkly polarized dichotomies proposed by [...] Gaitskell and Unterhalter and regard their identification of progressive and oppressive constructs of motherhood according to clearly defined 'racial' makers as both conceptually and historically flawed" (423). Walker concludes, "the evidence for overlapping constructions of motherhood [...as] porous and syncretic rather than 'pure cultures' generally is overwhelming" (436). South Africa provides an interesting example of a country in which women as mothers have become part of, and have had to contend with, competing notions of nationhood. These experiences highlight similarities that may potentially form the basis for shared concerns and action. 158 the body politic - and the circuits of control between them - that linked the fate of the two" (150). Mothers have been divided because fears of degeneration made women the enemies of one another in the contests over race and nation. Regeneration breaks down these divisions and asserts that, in a "rainbow nation," mothers need not reproduce those divides in their attempts to regenerate the nation.
I have been arguing that the narrative of Mother to Mother portrays the similarities and mutual concerns of mothers. Nationalist movements subjugate women as mothers of the nation but Magona recuperates motherhood as an independent sphere, as one that is able to reject the claims of nationhood and focus on the priorities of mothers themselves. Written prior to the publication of Mother to Mother, Obiama Nnaemeka's
Politics of (m)Othering: Womanhood, Identity and Resistance in African Literature argues that women writers recuperate mothers who are "othered" by their societies. For
Nnaemeka (m)others are able to use their position to resist: "Third world women writers have often asserted that women are not victimized by motherhood but motherhood provides a tenacious resistance against the victimizing world" (155). The experience of being marginalized as mothers creates the space to critique and resist the discourses and structures that exclude them. One of the ways that Mandisa as the mother-witness figure is able to destabilize the stereotyping of women and mothers is by using that position to enable feminist alliances.
If women are typically used to foster and bolster a nation that erases them, as in the case of the TRC, in Mother to Mother the women go beyond the nation: "Rather than symbolically marking the boundaries of the national body, the mother reaches across 159 them in a transnational address to another suffering mother" (Samuelson 170).
Nationalism is replaced with transnational solidarity amongst women. Samuelson concludes that"Mother to Mother begins to forge transnational coalitions of women, on the basis of an identified shared loss: in this instance, the loss of a child" (170). Thus the position of the mother is both a site from which to resist patriarchal configurations of the
"nation" but also a way to resist the ways in which racial divisions between women have limited the possibilities for feminist coalition. Whereas the TRC asked women to tell their stories in order to create a sense of national memory and history, Magona creates a character who tells her story in order to spark a sense of understanding between women across race, class, and location. Since the TRC's "rainbow nation" was not able to fully include the experiences and voices of women Magona's fictional account offers a recuperation whereby women, and specifically mothers, transcend their erasure in the national sphere and move towards a gender-based coalition.
Reconciliation efforts in South Africa, through the TRC and other nation-building projects, have been designed to foster societal transformation.1161 imagine that transformation as regeneration: regrowth emerging from what currently exists. Bill
Ashcroft suggests that "transformation, rather than a simple opposition [...] fulfils many of the goals of resistance" (44). Some resistance literature deconstructs social processes or stands in opposition to political power. Conversely, Mother to Mother is resistance literature that regenerates and reconstructs, rather than opposes or deconstructs, in order to produce the type of transformation Ashcroft describes. David Jefferess suggests that
116 Helene Strauss describes how post-apartheid literature "images" South African nationhood. 160 Mother to Mother inscribes this transformation through the maternal dialogue it figures (163). Mandisa offers context as atonement. In explaining the circumstances of township life she attempts to help the other mother understand her daughter's sacrifice:
"your daughter. The imperfect atonement of her race. My son. The perfect house of the demons of his" (201). The use of "atonement" here reflects the ways in which the novel echoes the TRC's politic of atonement (although remorse was not required for amnesty, the commission hoped for and often achieved the extraction of apologies from perpetrators). The Amy Biehl figure in the novel, just like the historical Biehl, was attempting to be part of South Africa's reconciliation and, although her death was tragic, it did allow her to truly fulfill that aim. This is the imperfect atonement: through her death her parents and her killers become emblematic of the reconciliation process, particularly through the dialogue of the mothers.
Similarly, Mandisa tells the story of how her son became "the perfect house of the demons of his [race]" without apology. She is neither excusing her son nor is she blaming him. She is offering reasons for things as they are. Jefferess argues that while the discursive focus on the TRC has been on apology and forgiveness, the TRC's success was in the stories that emerged without the politics of blame or guilt (173). Because remorse was not required for amnesty, the stories reflect a desire simply to learn about the people between whom the state ensured solid division. Mandisa's narrative reflects these testimonies at the TRC; rather than apology, it offers context as solace. Just as the
TRC offered truth and explanation in place of blame and penalty, Mandisa's narrative too refuses to assign blame. The murder, though tragic, was a product of a seething society 161 on the edge of explosion. Mandisa cannot offer the other mother more than that but she hopes that offering this context will help her to forgive and find peace. She says,
"mother of the Slain, you whose heart is torn, know this: [...] All joy has fled my house and my heart bleeds, it sorrows for you, for the pain into which you have plunged. It is heavy and knows no rest" (199). Mandisa connects her addressee's "torn" heart with her own bleeding and heavy heart.
For Jefferess, this South African model of reconciliation "serves as both an ideal of liberation and a praxis of resistance" (144). Jefferess therefore argues that reconciliation in Mother to Mother is a new kind of resistance literature. Rather than opposition, reconciliation is a way in which to resist the divisions and stratifications between people moving towards transformation through collectivity. Jefferess writes,
"Mother to Mother provides no solution or resolution to apartheid, but it gestures towards transformation" (163). This transformation, as both Jefferess and Ashcroft imagine it, is a regeneration. The world, through the mothers, is changing. This project's interest in resistance literature is to see how examples of re/sistering are foundational in post- apartheid resistance narratives. Collectivity between women is the backbone of Mother to
Mother as a narrative of reconciliation and resistance. While mothers have been divided and placed in opposition by patriarchal and nationalist constructions of race and gender, regeneration fosters transformation for both the mothers and the generations they bear. In this way, Magona inscribes regeneration as resistance.
Regenerating the Literary Mother 162 Mother to Mother is Magona's first novel but it refracts in fiction many of the same issues that appear in her two works of life-writing: To My Children's Children and
Forced to Grow. Both of these texts centre on the maternal narrative and posit a growth 117 that is regenerative. Magona's life-writing provides a useful counterpoint to the large- scale master history created by the TRC; it is a self-assertion that reclaims an identity placed under erasure by a repressive regime and thereby reclaims the history of people like her. Magona's preface to To My Children's Children, subtitled "from a Xhosa grandmother," begins "When I am old, wrinkled, and gray, what shall I tell you, my great-granddaughter? [...] What of my young womanhood, my wifehood, and motherhood? [...] How will you know who you are if I do not or cannot tell you the story of your past?" (vii). As the phrasing/language here reflects, Magona's insistence on the validity of personal history as "the story of [the] past" inherently reflects the story of her own "womanhood, [...] wifehood, and motherhood." Motherhood becomes a position from which to narrate historical events and represent the maternal experience in the historical record. Pumla Dineo Gqola identifies Magona's life-writing as "womanist" and resistive precisely because of the way that she juxtaposes "autobiographical narrative and historical record" (51). For women, there can be no separation between personal and
1IO political history.
117 Magona's first play Vukani! [Wake Up!] also draws on the tropes of reconciliation between mothers. The mother of a rape victim and the mother of her rapist come together to set up a TRC-style tribunal. The focus is on the healing of the children and the broader community. It is another of Magona's textual representations of regeneration. For more on mothers in Vukani! see Lizzy Attree. I use both terms "life-writing" and "autobiography" to describe Magona's work. Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson differentiate between these, arguing that life-writing is a biographical narrative with a subject at its centre, while autobiography celebrates a humanist individual subject that can stand for the universal 163 Moreover, Magona's life-writing establishes Mother to Mother's theme of recuperating women's narratives as historically valid; this is a theme which connects
Magona's texts with this dissertation's overall concern with resistance literature.119 Many theorists have posited how and why telling one's own story may be political. For example, part of what makes Rigoberta Menchu's well-known testimonio important is that she tells a story that opposes the official history offered by a repressive state
(Zimmerman 38-39). Speaking on behalf of oneself, therefore, is also a collective enterprise whereby a marginalized voice occupies a space in a larger frame; speaking for oneself is also speaking for one's people. For this reason, Leigh Gilmore's study on women's autobiography finds that "autobiography may be a site of resistance, especially as it engages the politics of looking back and challenges the politics of how the past and the present may be known in relation to a particular version of history" (79-80; my emphasis). Autobiography becomes resistance literature when the act of producing discourse about one's own life, as well as the discourse itself, combats epistemic violence.
(3). Magona's life-writing incorporates her various "selves" - fragmented and uneven. She does not inscribe the Enlightenment/Humanist subject Smith and Watson take issue with in traditional autobiography. However her writing does posit her as an individual, an assertion that challenges the de humanizing of black women in apartheid South Africa. Thus I use both terms to describe her work. Gillian Whitlock discusses Magona's work as exemplary of how black women's autobiography is resistance literature because it outlines the strategies of survival under colonization and patriarchy that women have been able to use (154). Other critics, such as Johnnie M. Stover, discuss autobiography as resistance literature. Deirdre Byrne refers to South African black women's writing as "a different kind of resistance" (22). As stated in my introduction, several critics describe texts as resistance literature without attempting to define it. 164 Life-writing by mothers serves as this form of resistance, and has led to a renewed critical interest in the mother in literature. Both the figure of the mother and the literary canon are being regenerated along motherist lines. Brenda O. Daly and Maureen
T. Reddy emphasize literature's historical erasure of the mother. They argue in Narrating
Mothers: Theorizing Maternal Subjectivities that few fictional texts are narrated by mothers from their own perspective and that those that are "seldom hold fast to a maternal perspective. Furthermore, when texts do maintain this perspective, readers and critics tend to suppress the centrality of mothering" (2-3). This is particularly true in the postcolony. In South Africa the only famous narratives of motherhood were by Olive
Schreiner; the experiences of mothers of colour were not part of the public discourse until apartheid-era narratives surfaced. These, such as Ellen Kuzwayo's autobiography Call
Me Woman, highlighted the power of the mother in South Africa but particularly focused on apartheid-era politics. Mother to Mother, although set in the interregnum, is a post- apartheid novel. This historical position allows for the mother to occupy a more central space in the narrative as she looks back on the past while looking ahead to the future.
Motherist literature existed prior to Magona, but the moment at which she writes ~ when regeneration, reconciliation, and rebirth are at the forefront of the South African consciousness — enables her to centralize the mother's point of view. Readers can find hope in the reconciliation and regeneration it offers both for the nation and for mothers themselves.
One of the greatest challenges of narrating the mother in (South) Africa is combating the "Mother Africa" trope. Related to the "mother of the nation," the figure of 165 "Mother Africa" represents the continent itself as nurturer to her people. Just as actual mothers are subsumed by nationalist narratives the "Mother Africa" figure interpolates women as mothers into the contest over land, resources, racial rights, societal control, and politics. Literature is one medium through which the trope gains currency: "The Mother
Africa trope is deeply entrenched in the male literary tradition" (Stratton 39). The trope signifies either "pre-colonial African essence" or "post-neo-colonial Africa free of foreign domination" (39). Either way, "Mother Africa" is robbed of her own subjectivity.120 For this reason, African mothers need to voice their challenge to "Mother
Africa." As writer and mother Mariama Ba says, "We no longer accept the nostalgic praise to the African Mother who, in his anxiety, man confuses with Mother Africa.
Within African literature, room must be made for women" (Qtd. in Schipper 46 - 47).
The representation of the mother figure, in a male literary tradition, has been problematic.
Magona recuperates her and thereby regenerates not only the mother figure but also the literature that inscribes her.
In Magona's novel the reconciliation between "sister-mothers" occurs primarily through dialogue. The novel blends fiction, life-writing, and the epistolary form. The title
"Mother to Mother" suggests dialogue and the author's note explains that the novel is
Mandisa "looking for answers for herself whilst talking to the other mother, imagining her pain [...]" (vi). Thus the novel is written partly as direct address from Mandisa to this other mother, and partly as a fictionalized journal. The direct addresses are italicized and
120 Stratton continues: "Through the Mother Africa trope, [male writers] mask the subordination of women in the paternal socio-political systems of African states" (55), 166 allow Mandisa to step outside her role as narrator and address the other woman, directly and emotively, concerning their mutual loss. Chapter one, entitled "Mandisa's lament," establishes this style within the novel. It begins "My son killed your daughter"
(1) and allows Mandisa's reflections to frame the rest of the novel. The narrative then shifts to a journal style with entries beginning with a date and time: "Mowbray -
Wednesday 25 August 1993" (5). In these, Mandisa narrates the events of the day of the murder and of the days immediately following it. It is an atypical type of narration which incorporates various points of view, including that of the Amy Biehl figure before she is murdered. Mandisa's perspective is limited, as any first person narrative must be, and yet she narrates events that she did not witness or experience. Thus Mandisa imagines the events from various points of view - including that of her son's victim. It is an exercise in both empathy and reconstruction; she identifies with the various people involved and tells their story in the hopes of providing the other mother with a sense of what happened.
The novel's form reinforces its thematic emphasis on dialogue. Mandisa's compilation and interpretation of events for her "sister-mother" reflect Magona's objective: to construct the story of the killer so that others may understand the violence and come to terms with it. Magona lived in Guguletu, the same township where the murder occurs, and she is therefore able to imagine the events because of her familiarity with similar situations and the lives of those involved. The journal-entry scenes blend aspects of Magona's life and Mandisa's fictional experience.121 Plaatjies writes that
121 It is easy to see resemblances between Magona's life and that of her character. A few examples are their forced relocation from Blouvlei to Guguletu, abandonment by their husbands, and frustration with school 167 "Magona's utilization of autobiography and epistolary form enables her to construct a narrative that has the feel of an intimate conversation" (197). The intimacy created through Magona's hybridizing of journal and epistolary forms represents the connection
Mandisa forges with her "sister-mother." By using the Linda Biehl figure as addressee for both her letter and life-writing, Mandisa's aim is to connect with this other mother so that both women may find peace. The form of the novel reflects its content: both seek to create and portray dialogue between women.
Mother to Mother fictionalizes some of Magona's real experiences, and thus inserts some of her contributions from her life-writing into a new generic realm.
Magona's life-writing exemplifies the emerging tradition of female life-writing in which women challenge stereotypical and demeaning constructions of womanhood. As Smith and Watson argue, "if selves and self-knowledge are constituted through discursive practices [...] we need to consider how [...] people are able to change existing narratives and to write back to the cultural stories that have scripted them as particular kinds of subjects" (10).122 Magona's life-writing appeared right at the end of apartheid on the eve of the first free elections in South Africa. As a result, hers was one of the first narratives by a black woman that reflected on the apartheid experience. In terms of "writing back"
boycotts. It would be inaccurate and reductive to suggest that Mandisa is an autobiographical character, but it would also be foolish to ignore the ways in which Magona inserts real lived experience and a personal understanding of historical events into the novel. Given its true subject matter, and inclusion of characters based on real people, the novel plays with fiction and reality. Magona's objective of reconciliation is aided by the realistic elements in the story. 122 Smith's reference to women "writing back" mirrors Ashcroft et al's foundational discussion of ways in which postcolonial writing "writes back" to empire. While neither the gendered nor postcolonial subject "writes back" exclusively - for they surely write the present and write to affect the fiiture - this assertion of selfhood under erasure is an important element of how women's life-writing resists. 168 to the constructions of black womanhood that fuelled apartheid for so long Magona's texts are effective because, as Ngwenya writes,
Like most black South African autobiographers, Magona writes of her struggle to
create an "authentic self-identity" by challenging those roles and identities
imposed on her by dominant cultural and political discourses and ideologies. In its
portrayal of Magona's challenges to both patriarchy and racism, the
autobiography suggests alternative and inherently counter-hegemonic modes of
self-representation available to South African women in the 1990s. (131)
Magona's life-writing is one such counter-hegemonic mode of self-representation since she writes the experience of black women but she also makes motherhood central so that it may comprise part of the South African imagination.
At the time of its publication, with very few available narratives of black women's lives, Magona's writing had the potential to inspire other women in similar circumstances. She thereby illustrates Mary Mason's argument that, while traditional autobiography was a project of the self, women's autobiography is more interested in the collective. Mason articulates that women have transformed the genre of autobiography into a relational genre where the act of self-assertion is a tool to facilitate dialogue; "I" is
123 TMCC begins "Child of the child of my child" (1) which immediately grounds the narrative that unfolds as an address from great-grandmother to great-grandchild. The second volume of the autobiography begins "I was a has-been at the age of twenty-three. Sans husband, I was the mother of two little girls and expecting my third child [...]" (1). In both texts matriarchy (motherhood and great-grandmotherhood) provides the starting point for the life-writing. Both texts inscribe the realities of single motherhood for black women in apartheid South Africa, including poverty, lack of opportunity, and judgment from society. The title of the second volume describes how, once her husband leaves her and their children, she is "forced to grow." Magona eventually transcends her dire circumstances and, through telling her story, she is able to provide inspiration for others to grow as well. 169 used to represent "we."124 This relationality is particularly important because of the racialized stereotyping to which Magona "writes back." Felicity Nussbaum argues that it is precisely because of the politics of postcolonial erasure that "writers initiate their readers into subjectivity as well as themselves" (32). It is not only the act of writing autobiography that is political but the act of reading it as well. As readers understand
Magona's life experiences through her writing, they are either validated if they have lived through similar circumstances, or they are educated about, and develop an understanding and empathy for, a type of life that has been under-represented and therefore misunderstood. Mother to Mother relies on and constructs the same type of empathy between women. Because Magona challenges her readers to change, her writing exemplifies how "to become a feminist reader of autobiography is to become a new kind of subject" (Brodzki and Schenck 15). Magona uses life-writing as a way of initiating contact and transformation between writer and reader; her self-assertion becomes an act of dialogue and collectivity.
This inherent aspect of dialogue is what helps Magona bridge life-writing and the epistolary form in Mother to Mother. Carol Boyce Davies claims that African women autobiographers use an "open-ended, dialogic, conversational form" (115) in order to capture the ways in which women tell each other their stories. The style is, "my sister, sit
124 Paul John Eakin challenges Mason and suggests that "all selfhood is relational" (50), regardless of gender. However, in the South African case, collectivity still tends to belong to the realm of women's writing. See for example Judith Coullie's "(In)continent I-lands: Blurring the Boundaries Between Self and Other in South African Women's Autobiographies," which argues that South African women have a history of being isolated from one another (through pass laws, family structures, overwork) and they therefore need to articulate their coming together in writing. 170 down, let me tell you what happened to me" (115). This describes Magona's style in her life-writing and her novel which both use an addressee inherent to the text in order to situate and personalize the audience. The epistolary form traditionally facilitates dialogue between women who otherwise may not have access to one another. It is therefore a form that helps to create and maintain collectivity between women. The epistolary form did not originate in women's writing but it has become historicized as being a particular form used by women. Linda Kauffman's Discourses of Desire: Gender, Genre and
Epistolary Fictions denotes how letters as literature function to articulate women's desire in a way that has been historically impossible in other discursive modes. The desire can be erotic but the point is that it extends to each woman's desire for her own voice and perspective. Kauffman notes that while critics have read women's epistolary fiction reductively, complaining that women can only write about the "smallness of their own lives" (21), the genre is one of the first in which women controlled the production of writing and their own representations (77). Letters have been a subversive form through which women writers could express their personal and political viewpoints because
"letters do not stop at political, geographical, cultural, linguistic, or sexual borders. Their intersubjectivity and intertextuality, their transgression or subversion of borders" (Simon
15) have given women writers a freedom in writing that other genres foreclosed. It is precisely the transcendence of borders that locates women's epistolary fiction in general,
125 Some of the earliest encounters with the epistolary form are either by women or in the voice of women. Aphra Behn's Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister and novels like Pamela and Clarissa by Samuel Richardson serve as good examples of the feminine slant inherent to the genre. 171 and Magona's work in particular, within the realm of re/sistering and postcolonial resistance writing.
White women writers have historically employed the epistolary form to transcend sexism. Women of colour from Africa and North America have adopted the epistolary form more recently to transcend racism and imperialism as well. Alice Walker's The
Color Purple and Mariama Ba's So Long a Letter are well-known examples of novels in which the epistolary form is used to demarcate boundaries for female self-expression. In both novels, the protagonists are managing family and community situations in which women have no voice. It is through letter writing that these women find their voice and discover and foster their connections with other women. In doing so, they create a space for themselves outside of the patriarchy that defines most other aspects of their lives.
Mother to Mother extends this trajectory because the addressee literally exists outside of the writer's community. The mother Mandisa addresses is a white American woman, and the differences between her and Mandisa in terms of class, education, marital status, racial privilege, and countless aspects of lived experience, make the dialogue between them even more transgressive. In this way, Magona demonstrates that connections between mothers are able to transcend other boundaries. The epistolary form establishes the space for dialogue but the desire for such conversation arises out of an empathy and understanding between mothers. 172 There has been renewed critical attention to mothers in fiction and life- writing.126 Andrea O'Reilly's Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community
Involvement, and its attendant Demeter Press, have sought to insert a critical analysis of and from mothers into an academy that has silenced them. Elizabeth Podnieks and
O'Reilly assert, in one of Demeter's recent publications, that "the fact that so much attention of late has been so fully directed at locating literary mothers underscores the obvious: they have been missing" (5). Whether critics agree that mothers were "missing" in literature, or whether the point of view of the mother requires greater articulation and analysis, critics are beginning to focus greater attention on the multiple resistances of mothers. Silvia Caporale Bizzini reflects on "Writing as a Practice of Resistance:
Motherhood, Identity, and Representation." In this article she claims that mothers write to record their resistance and they write as an act of resistance, globally. Creating a textual mother prevents her from being circumscribed by a male literary tradition, both Western and global, which uses the mother as a trope but denies her as a subject. These writers are therefore regenerating not only social views of motherhood but the media and representations that create them. Daly and Reddy conclude that life-writing by mothers
"resists binary logic, particularly the injunction to either mother or write, in order to assert the value of both procreation and creation" (5). Writing has often been compared to a kind of birthing, in which ideas are produced and reproduced, and the creative process figures forth something new to be nurtured and which may grow. Mary O'Brien
126 For a volume that analyzes transnational motherist/feminist narratives, see Angelita Reyes' Mothering Across Cultures: Postcolonial Representations. 173 discusses how a male literary tradition makes "motherhood passively abstract while male creative imagination becomes a potent and regenerative force" (125). In inscribing the mother's voice and experience, and extending them to another mother, Magona regenerates the possibilities for mothers, their children, and the literary voices which tell their stories.
Regenerating Re/sistering
In Mother to Mother, both the content and the narrative style reflect a politics of collectivity between mothers. Such collectivity regenerates some of the connections which were severed under apartheid. This collectivity is not limited to the transnational bond between Mandisa and her "sister-mother" as reconciliation occurs more locally between women in Mandisa's community as well. While critics recognize the transnational re/sistering that occurs in Mother to Mother they often do not describe the reconciliation between Mandisa and the other women in the township. This reconciliation offers a parallel to the central one between Mandisa and her addressee.
Just as the collectivity that emerges between these transnational mothers resists the divisions that have been demarcated by patriarchal and cultural expectations of women,
Mandisa's local re/sistering also signals the possibilities for coalition and collectivity between women that can lead to regeneration. In the novel, just as in the Biehl case itself, the murder attracts much attention from the media and from the government. Guguletu fears strict government reprisals and escalated violence in response. As a result, the community excises those who were involved; Mandisa is ostracized by her own community after the murder. Magona uses this to critique the ways in which mothers are blamed for the actions of their children. Neighbourhood women call Mandisa,
"mother of the beast. Mother of the serpent. The puffadder's mother" (115). Mandisa adds "There are those who even go as far as calling me Satan's mother" (115). Blaming mothers for the actions of their children continues to perpetuate the expectations of perfection placed on mothers. Mandisa's narrative demonstrates how her loss of control over her child is directly related to her lack of control and power in society. The narrative of the novel works to demonstrate that the power of black mothers in South Africa is limited because of their jobs outside the home and the political violence of their townships. Magona's illustration of Mandisa's ostracism functions as a critique of the ways in which women blame other women in spite of their shared circumstances. Just as colonialism functions through a "divide and conquer" ideology, so too does patriarchy.
Women who blame other women for the effects of circumstances beyond their control exemplify the deep ways in which some women internalize the mores of their cultures and nations. This is precisely why collectivity between women is so regenerative.
In the novel, the reconciliation between mothers that provides the central narrative is extended to the community of mothers in Guguletu. The other mothers in the neighbourhood reverse their attitude towards Mandisa; their condemnation transforms into empathy. After some time the women approach Mandisa to collectively mourn her loss. They tell her, "we have come to cry with you... as is our custom, to grieve with those who grieve" (201). In the Xhosa tradition, women mourn together. Magona situates the re/sistering between the two mothers at the centre of the story within this local cultural practice. As all of the mothers in this story experience loss they must find a way 175 to grieve alongside each other. Mandisa's gesture of reaching out to another mother is rewarded by the neighbourhood women who reach out to her. The narrative therefore suggests that re/sistering can be a reciprocal process. Mandisa recalls, "I had not called my neighbours -1 had not announced the death. Yes, there has been a death. But is it I who may keen? Is it I whom people should help grieve? [...] And we talked, my neighbours and I. It was like the opening of a boil [...] It is people such as these who give me strength. And hope..." (201).
Mandisa's ability to talk to her neighbours mirrors the epistolary conversation between mothers on which the narrative centres. Both reflect the TRC's goal of dialogue, which is "like the opening of a boil," but work towards transformation and healing. In this scene, collective mourning is a way of uniting women.127 The death that is being mourned is of a young American woman; the loss that is being mourned is that of her killer's mother. Although Mandisa questions whether she has the right to grieve, the other women affirm for her that the loss of a child is understood by any mother, and that the women in the community unite in their grief. Mandisa and her addressee are connected in their loss and this connection is extended to the larger community of mothers. Magona portrays reconciliation and collectivity between mothers as being possible within local
127 This scene reflects some of the historical realities of mourning Biehl's death in Guguletu. At first, South African women's groups complained that a white woman's death resulted in a flourish of media and government attention, while the deaths of numerous township youth had not. In spite of this, many women's groups chose to transgress the divisions between women, and use the somber occasion to (re)sister: "Following the memorial service, representatives of the ANC Women's League called for 'white' and 'coloured' women to join a spontaneous march into Guguletu to 'take back the township'" (Scheper- Hughes 143) as they would have for any other female freedom fighter. Magona's scene is between township women, but reflects the ways in which mourning Biehl became a historical act of re/sistering. 176 and also global contexts and, therefore, motherhood is positioned as a site for both local and global collectivity and regeneration.
Magona's portrayal of collective mourning reifies female-centred networks. The scene of the collective mourning in Mother to Mother resonates with a famous poem by
South African poet Ingrid de Kok. "Small Passing" portrays a white woman grieving for her stillborn child. A male doctor tells the woman that she has no right to grieve her loss in a country and a time during which black people suffer much greater loss on a much greater scale: "In this country you may not/ mourn small passings" (51). The speaker considers the immensity of black women's loss: the deaths of their children at the hands of the police, township violence, and poverty. She says:
I think these mothers dream headstones of the unborn. Their mourning rises like a wall no vine will cling to. They will not tell you your suffering is white. They will not say it is just as well. They will not compete for the ashes of infants. I think they may say to you: Come with us to the place of mothers. We will stroke your flat empty belly, let you weep with us in the dark, and arm you with one of our babies to carry home on your back. (53)
De Kok's figurative language captures the immensity of the mourning, but also her frustration with the ways in which women are divided by imposed hierarchies of pain. De
Kok challenges this division with a depiction of re/sistering. Mary deShazer praises this poem for "blending the lyrical and the political" (205) and the "hope in the power of mothers to help one another, across racial lines" (212). Mandisa finds hope in the 177 reconciliation with her community; a parallel is found in de Kok's hopefulness in drawing connections between women.
However, DeShazer does note that the poem received a mixed reception amongst black women in South Africa: "Some criticized her for presuming connection between black and white women in her grief, while others praised her compassionate vision"
(213). De Kok's gesture of re/sistering is careful to avoid making assumptions in the poem. In an interview she comments, '"Small passing' does I suppose project
'communities of empathy' but, I hope, it also is provisional: in the detailing of the losses of black women and their children, in the cautious claim 'I think' (repeated twice in the last stanza), not 'I know'" (Kelley 36). The hedging of "I think" and "may" allows de
Kok to avoid asserting with finality what she presumes black mothers to think. At the same time, it also allows her to assert the possibility that solidarity amongst mothers may transcend the hierarchized privileges that divide them.
Anthony O'Brien praises de Kok for this move. Where others shy away from the potential controversy eliding difference can create, O'Brien believes de Kok dares to illuminate what is common to women in spite of power differences: "The poem abandons the safety of white silence or reticence, the safety of waiting for black women to invite and open dialogue, the safety of passivity behind a respect for black women's determination, and their anger and resentment at the relative privilege of white women, the safety of avoiding, by inaction, mistakes, misstatements, and missteps" (139). This dissertation project is driven by a desire to locate common ground precisely because there has been, in literary and social criticism, an apathy that arises out of a desire not to 178 offend. O'Brien describes the safety of activists and writers but his claims can be extended to critics as well. It is easier to critique and deconstruct than it is to state what is possible and to reconstruct, but the result is a body of criticism that is bleak and hopeless.
While this dissertation does not claim to have either the influence or the fortitude of de
Kok and Magona, it does seek to express a hopefulness and demonstration of women finding common ground to engage in mutual support and common struggle. Just as de
Kok respectfully hedges towards coalition between women, this project aims to express a similar hopefulness that in collectivity between women regeneration is possible.
De Kok's poem identifies the "common ground" for women as a "place of mothers." Mothers are able to mourn together because of their shared empathy that arises out of mutual concerns. DeShazer calls "Small Passing" a "tribute to women's potential solidarity across racial lines during times of struggle and loss" (211). Magona's novel reflects de Kok's theme exactly. The women in "Small Passing," just as the women in
Mother to Mother, explore the ways race and gender intersect to cause suffering. Both texts feature mothers who transcend racial divisions to support one another. De Kok uses the medium of poetry while Magona uses prose, but both forms encapsulate the process of women creating dialogue with other women. De Kok's poem speculates about what mothers will and will not say to one another yet, through words and actions, the mothers express empathy for other mothers. It is a bond that transcends division because, for all of the women in the poem and in Magona's novel, the concerns of mothers and the care for their children is the most crucial element of their lives. For both Magona and de Kok, 179 motherhood is the site of both collectivity and resistance and how women as mothers become one another's sisters.
The epigraph for this chapter, "we put faith in the ability of women to be agents of social change" (FTG 132) comes from Magona's life-writing, but it reflects how the hopefulness created by the reconciliation between women in Mother to Mother arises from a belief in the power of women's agency. Mandisa resists the divisions between blackness and whiteness that led to the murder. She excuses neither the racist oppression of black South Africans nor the race-based retaliation of the attack. Mandisa's efforts at reconciliation result directly from her understanding of the death as a consequence of apartheid: "My son only an agent - executing the long-simmering dark desires of his race. Burning hatred for the oppressor possessed his being [...] My son, the blind but sharpened arrow of the wrath of his race. Your daughter, the sacrifice of hers. Blindly chosen [...]" (211). Mandisa's efforts at reconciliation transcend the "long-simmering" hatred caused by apartheid. Collectivity between mothers is resistance because, as
Magona describes, women are able to transcend divisions in order to become "agents of social change." In the quotation above, Mandisa calls her son an "agent" but her phrasing eliminates the agency from his decision. Rather he is an "arrow," a deadly weapon that is wielded by someone else, in this case "the desires of his race." The agent is Mandisa herself who, rather than succumbing to the "burning hatred," finds a way to transcend it.
Because of the reconciliation that they are able to foster Koyana describes "mothers as agents" (34) in the novel. Mandisa's son is the "blind" arrow, just as his victim is
"blindly chosen," and the mothers are united by the shared loss that results. But through 180 this loss they become the agents of social change whose reconciliation (re)generates hope.
As I have traveled in countries around the world I have noticed an international tendency between mothers to support one another. I have witnessed time and again mothers coming to help a woman who is traveling with a child. This solidarity between mothers is nebulous, and hard to define, but suggests something about the possibilities for regeneration. Mothers have a unique interest in the future; they may possess an excited compassion for others out of the profound love that parenthood produces. This dissertation argues for a transnational feminism based on the politics of love. David
Jefferess, in his discussion of Mother to Mother, refers to "love as a praxis of resistance/liberation" (181 - 182).128 Love, ephemeral and indefinable, is at the core of the re/sistering that contemporary women's resistance literature inscribes. Mothers, who imbue their love with a ferocity driven by their desire to both protect and care for their children, illustrate how love and re/sistering connect.129 This chapter has considered that love as a regenerative force. The next chapter turns our attention from mothers to their daughters as we explore how girlhood too may be a position from which to resist.
128 He credits this idea to theorists like Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Spivak is an important critic to consider because she is skeptical of transnational feminism while a fervent proponent of it. She is critical of "love" as a universalizing force, but she also engages in activism that stems from a love and respect for global women. 29 In my role as a Wen-Do Women's Self-Defence instructor, I am often struck by the power of mothers. I occasionally have a woman in my class who says she is unsure of her strength/power and may not be able to fight back. When I ask her what she would do if someone attacked her daughter, she will frequently reply "1 would kill him!" The contradictory stereotype of the mother ~ passive weakness arising from her domestic role and fierce bear-like strength arising out of her role as protector - often strikes me as a false dichotomy. Our love can fuel our power. Mothers show re/sisters how that works. 181 Chapter Three
Girlhood and Resistance: Kagiso Lesego Molope
"The girl is certainly not defined by virginity; she is defined by a relation of movement and rest, speed and slowness, by a combination of atoms, an emission of particles: haecceity. She never ceases to roam upon a body without organs. She is an abstract line, or a line of flight" (Deleuze and Guattari, TP 305).
Tihelo, the protagonist of Kagiso Lesego Molope's Dancing in the Dust, fears getting older. As a girl, she has heard "older women" speak of "'womanhood' as if it was synonymous with 'struggle,' [...]" (82). Yet living as a student at the height of student- rioting in South Africa, Tihelo comes to understand that girlhood can also be synonymous with struggle. Dancing in the Dust portrays Tihelo as a different kind of re/sister: her girlhood itself is both the site and motivation for struggle. Girlhood is becoming increasingly popular as a field of study amongst psychologists, social scientists, and literary critics. In the last decade or so the girl, heretofore underrepresented, has become the focal point for theories of oppression. Seen through the lens of a variety of fields as the subject with the least power in any race or class, as a result of both gender and age, girls are taken as emblematic of the hierarchized power relations that inform society. While much of this theory is North American, girls in developing countries (specifically on the African continent) are epitomized as least powerful of all. While the attention to girls marks an important shift from their exclusion in the discourses of the humanities to their centrality, it also has presented an under- theorized view of girlhood and its manifestations. Focusing on Dancing in the Dust by
Kagiso Lesego Molope, this chapter considers girlhood in resistance literature and how the ideology of girlhood as a position of weakness can be subverted through text. 182 Dancing in the Dust is a coming-of-age narrative of a girl who grows up in the conflict-zone of the townships under apartheid. Becoming politicized through student strikes, the wrongful arrest of her mother, the violence in her community, and finally her sister's ordeal with a botched illegal abortion, Tihelo ultimately locates the only sense of control she can have over her own life within the student resistance movement. As a result of her activity within the resistance movement, Tihelo is arrested, detained, sexually assaulted, and tortured. Her story voices the experience of female freedom fighters who underwent similar horrors, but whose narratives are rarely heard in South
Africa. In spite of Tihelo's hardships, this is not a narrative of despair - it is a narrative of hope. Tihelo uses her girlhood in order to resist the machinations of the apartheid state at absolutely every level. This chapter considers revolutionary writing, that category of resistance literature that inscribes and promotes revolutionary activity, but uses the figure of the girl to elucidate how girlhood is its own site of revolution and resistance.
Many theoretical approaches inform this chapter. The epigraph to this chapter comes from Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari's A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and
Schizophrenia. A follow-up to Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, this philosophical work draws on literary theory in order to critique both capitalism and psychoanalysis. It is useful not only in its configuration of girlhood as resistance, but also in its approach to Sigmund Freud. This chapter will examine Freud's conception of the 183 girl130and also the objections to it by Deleuze and Guattari as well as feminist theorists like Luce Irigaray. The Freudian notion of the girl emerges from his theory of the Oedipus complex, and leads to a celebration of girlhood from the "Anti-Oedipus"
Deleuze and Guattari. The epigraph above states that the girl is a "line of flight." For
Deleuze and Guattari this is a deterritorialized space (and unspace) in which subjectivity dissolves and reconfigures itself according to cultural and environmental context. The girl, for Deleuze and Guattari, is the figure that best embodies the rhizome,131 in that her construction through psychoanalysis, patriarchal familial roles, and education (formal and social) that teaches girls their inferiority, prepares her for "schizoid" or "rhizomatic" existence. Deleuze and Guattari's iterations and articulations of these are multiple, but for the purpose of this chapter, Deleuze and Guattari's "lines of flight" produce
"assemblages," and one possible form assemblages can take is rhizomes. A rhizome, then, is the embodiment of various "plateaus" on which lines of flight land. The schizoid is always in flux, always recreating herself according to need, and so is the rhizome.
Unlike a linear trajectory of history and time, or a cyclical sense of time and the world, the rhizome imagines spatial and temporal moments to be multidirectional and multivalent.
For Deleuze and Guattari, the girl is the best manifestation of "lines of flight" and the "rhizome" because she is defined by her becoming (TP 306). Of the rhizome, Deleuze
130 "Conception" contains a double-entendre here. Freud puts forth a concept of girlhood, but in doing so he also births the tradition of constructing girlhood as pathology. Deleuze and Guattari touch on this tangentially (rhizomatically), but it is a central concern of this chapter. 131 The rhizome is a central figure in Deleuze and Guattari's work. It is based on plants that have multiple rootstalks that shoot out in a variety of directions to connect to nutrient sources and to other plants. The basic structure of a rhizome is therefore always in flux, and always reaching in new directions. 184 and Guattari write: "A rhizome has no beginning or end; it is always in the middle, between things, interbeing, intermezzo" (TP 27). The intermezzo is also a feature of girlhood: "[...] girls do not belong to an age group, sex, order, or kingdom: they slip in everywhere, between orders, acts, ages, sexes, they produce n molecular sexes on the line of flight in relation to the dualism machines they cross right through. The only way to get outside the dualisms is to be-between, to pass between, the intermezzo" (305). Girlhood
• • n1) . . is a temporal in-between; girls continually move between the expectations of womanhood, and the expectations of childhood. Moreover, they rehearse womanly performance (for example, playing "wife," or less obviously, mingling amongst adults engaged in adult conversation), but can easily also shift into child-centred understandings of the world and childlike roles. Deleuze and Guattari refer to girls as "becoming- woman" (305), their articulations ultimately extending to all schizoid human behaviour: we are all girl in our becoming.
Deleuze and Guattari's ideas inform this chapter's configuration of the girl as re/sister. Their views on girlhood, especially as they correspond with their views on desire and sexuality, the "war machine," the power of deterritorialization, and literature, inform the various sections of this chapter. Because she is "in-between" ages and states, she is "always in the middle, between things," and thus able to slip through the binaries and divisions that comprise power in society. Deleuze and Guattari are informed by
Foucault who articulates the genealogies of power. For Deleuze and Guattari, and for this chapter, girlhood promotes itself as a way to resist and subvert power, because it is in-
1321 am indebted to Deanne Williams who inspired this idea during our conversations about girlhood. 185 between some of the discursive agencies that inscribe power. Girls are sexualized, medicalized, pathologized, and confined. They are, in a Foucauldean sense, subjected to power all the time. However they are also in flux and hard to target. A girl does not remain a girl, and in the moments between her discursive construction as "child" and
"woman," she is sometimes able to escape. Tihelo as a character exemplifies how "in- betweenness" can be resistive for girls. Tihelo defies the power of the apartheid state (and the watchful gaze of her mother), by pretending to engage in girlish play, while really working with the student underground resistance movement. It is because she is a girl, not yet imposed upon by adult responsibilities but old enough to take them on herself, that she is able to resist. This chapter will discuss how Tihelo uses the in-betweenness of girlhood, race, and sexuality in order to resist.
Deleuze and Guattari's notion of the "in-between" corresponds with that of
Jacques Derrida's. In his seminal work "Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the
Human Sciences," Derrida determines that between the discursive binaries that inform both philosophy and the world it examines is an area of "free play." While most would consider it taboo to draw from Foucault (and from his disciples Deleuze and Guattari) as well as from his theoretical rival Derrida,134 the conceptions of "free play" and the "in- between" overlap. While Deleuze and Guattari's challenge to power involves rhizomatic
133 Most postcolonial works analyzing "in-betweenness" as resistance would draw heavily from Homi Bhabha who makes this connection. Bhabha will be an important part of my fourth chapter, and although his ideas may be part of what has inspired my thinking in terms of the in-between as resistance, the Derridean and Deleuzean thinking concerning in-betweenness are more relevant to this chapter. 134 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak argues that the comparisons between Derrida and Foucault are fruitful: "many say you can't do Foucault and Derrida at once. But no, no, no; it is in fact necessary to do so" (2006). 186 lines of flight, Derrida's involves the free play between binaries. Both rely on the
"intermezzo" and both imagine subversion to power as a process of becoming. Most importantly, both theories are represented and reflected exactly through the figure of the girl. Deleuze and Guattari name the girl as the intermezzo herself, and the girl is also the figure of playfulness.135
Tihelo Masimo is a rhizomatic, resistive figure. She deploys the multivalent layers of her identity (race, gender, age, sexuality) towards her revolutionary work.
Molope's novel is an example of "revolutionary writing," one of the five types of resistance literature I outline in my introduction. It is not only writing that encodes revolutionary activity, in this case the work of the South African Student Organization
(SASO), but also writing that promotes revolutionary thinking about current struggles, particularly those of gender and sexual inequity. Because Tihelo uses various features of her identity to resist, she exemplifies how the personal is political. She is a character who, because of the circumstances of her ordinary life, is led to do extraordinary things. She realizes there is no demarcation between "the struggle" that pervades politics around her and the smaller struggles she has at home. She uses her girlhood to resist during these familial battles, as well as while a member of a larger resistance group. She then symbolizes her own "becoming-woman" as an individual, but also the period of becoming that South Africa was in during the 1980s. The figure of the girl is a perfect
135 Rose Ure Mezu also applies Deleuze and Guattari to a figure of girlhood in Buchi Emecheta's novels. Her "schizoanalytic perspective" elucidates how girls, subject to sexual and cultural trauma, are necessarily "schizo," but use that position to resist. Although I came to her article after this chapter was written, its resonances reinforce my argument and application of Deleuze and Guattari to an understanding of girlhood. 187 way to represent South Africa during its transition, and indeed even now, as it still struggles to define and reinvent itself.
Molope's novels inscribe girlhood as a site of resistance. This recuperates both black femininity in South Africa's history of resistance and the figure of the girl in literature. This chapter examines Molope's intervention into a narrative of the South
African revolution, partly inscribed and perpetuated by South African literature, that excludes girls and women from the record of revolutionary activity. Ultimately, Molope reinserts the girl as resister by demonstrating the girl as re/sister.
Imagining Girlhood
Dancing in the Dust is one of the first South African novels to focus on the figure of the girl. My argument that Tihelo is a re/sister is partly reliant on the history of girls in literature. Tihelo's character breaks from a tradition in which girls are represented as powerless but also extends a tradition of girl characters who fight that powerlessness.
One of the main tools of resistance for girls is the imagination. Novelists like Molope are similarly re-imagining girlhood, and thereby reinventing possibilities for girls. Seth
Lerer's study of girl-characters in children's literature, as one example, concludes that
"the story of the girls' book [...] teaches most of all the cultivation of the imagination"
(251). This chapter on girls in Lerer's study of children's literature highlights the particularity of girls in dealing with patriarchal control and performance. Although they are constrained by paternalism doubly ~ because they are children and because they are female ~ they use their imaginations to escape these constraints. As girls play house, 188 dress-up, or make-believe games, they imagine worlds and futures that are beyond the realistic possibilities for themselves.
Dancing in the Dust is framed and consumed by a focus on the imagination as escape. Although the novel is written in first-person from Tihelo's point of view, the preface is spoken by a different narrator in a second-person that addresses the reader directly and forces our attention on the relationship between choicelessness and imagination:
If you're watching, you can see them laughing and playing in their innocence.
This street is all they know. Don't think for a second that they don't try to
imagine what may exist a hundred, or a hundred thousand, kilometres from here,
because it is all they ever do: imagine, dream, imagine, dream. There are futures
in their fantasies [....] For now, because there are no choices, they live and love
and play and trust only in this street. (1)
The children of South Africa in the 1980s have "no choices," and no real future, besides
"the futures in their fantasies." The student resistance movement reached the height of its fervor during this decade because the long school strikes and boycotts, set against a backdrop of continual violence from both the apartheid state and the resistance, had left the children (sometimes literally) caught in the crossfire of the political upheaval and without hope.
Because of the rampant hopelessness of these children, many joined the resistance movement. For some, like Tihelo, this was the only way to turn their imagined futures into possible realities. Although Tihelo's mother forbids her from joining the resistance, 189 she ultimately comes to see that there is no choice. After a particularly hard day in the resistance, Tihelo reflects, "I tried to remember all the time what Mama said, that if we did not fight we would agree to stay here forever. [...] I still allowed myself some time to pack up my belongings and go live in my future, that very invigorating place in my imagination that was most comfortable" (78). Tihelo's imagination provides the escape and respite she needs to continue with the resistance efforts; as she imagines a better future for herself she summons the will to fight for a better future for the country. The figure of the girl in Dancing in the Dust represents the hopefulness of South African resistance as a whole; freedom fighters had only their imaginations of what South Africa may become in order to spur their hope. Just as Deleuze and Guattari conceive of girls as
"woman-becoming," South Africa in the 1980s was very much a country-becoming.
The violence and political strife were of such a degree that change became inevitable.
The resistance was strengthened by the belief that resisters could create a country that might serve their needs.
The ending of the novel is composed through a letter Tihelo writes to her newly- discovered white mother in Canada, Diana. Tihelo has heard that Diana travels a lot, and she writes, "I cannot imagine that amount of freedom [...] I do think about where I have not been a lot. I imagine what may be out there all the time" (188). The theme of imagination as escape frames the novel. These quotations come at exactly the beginning, middle, and ending of the novel because, throughout the events of Tihelo's coming-of-
136 During this time the government declares a "state of emergency" in which the violence, arbitrary arrests, and enforcement of apartheid's punitive laws escalate. 190 age, she uses her imagination to guide her sense of hope and purpose. Despite her growth as an individual, as a girl/woman, and as a freedom fighter, she still occupies the imaginative space of girlhood.
Imagining girlhood has as much to do with the genealogy and invention of girlhood as it does with girls' imaginations. Girls have been historically determined and defined by both oppression and resistance. This brief historical introduction to the girl is meant to establish a tradition of girlhood which Tihelo both fits into and changes as a result of her own oppression and resistance. Lerer proposes that during the Victorian era's debate on "the woman question," a concept of girlhood was born - the project of articulating what it meant to be a woman included a specific set of expectations for girls.
Lerer argues that girl-characters in the literature since that time reproduce these Victorian expectations (232). Catherine Driscoll also cites the Victorian era as responsible for "the invention of girlhood" (Girls 5), particularly given the concerns over women's education.
It became clear to the Victorians that, to control the woman, one had to control the girl
("Girls Today" 14). This "genealogy of girlhood" (Girls 4) is rather bleak, aligning the birth of "the girl" with the birth of her oppression. From a feminist point of view, this situates the construction of gender within the construction of gendered power relations, which makes good sense. However, as with any Foucauldean genealogy, "where there is power there's resistance" (HS 95).
Girls are not only circumscribed by the power relations that confine them but also by their resistance to them. Jennifer Higginbotham's doctoral dissertation entitled Fair
Maids and Golden Girls: Early Modern Girlhood and the Production of Femininity 191 traces the genealogy of girlhood as well as the genealogy of its resistance.
Higginbotham attributes the beginning of girlhood, constructed especially in literature through the figures of "'girls,' 'maids,' 'damsels,' and 'wenches'" (v), to the early modern period. After charting the emergence of the word "girl" in Early Modern dictionaries Higginbotham "investigates the way these lexical changes produced gendered identities in literary texts" (v). She concludes that "because female children were not yet women and were not expected to behave like adults, they had more freedom to move between gender roles. As a result, the term "girl" was extended to include unruly adult women" (v). The idea of the unruly woman as "girl" appeals to this chapter's configuration of girlhood as resistance. The freedom for girls to play within gender roles empowers them to resist. Play, like imagination, is a tool of escape. Unlike the "unruly women" who retain their girlish nature, young girls are not immediately seen to be outside of their social roles when they imagine and play. In this way, their resistance remains somewhat under the radar of the controlling forces in their lives.
Deleuze and Guattari's conception of the girl as a "line of flight" relies on this idea of girlhood as able to traverse boundaries. Because it is through her "play" that she is able to remain "intermezzo," I join their idea of girlhood with Jacques Derrick's notion of resistance. In Margins of Philosophy Derrida conceptualizes "differance," a word-play that includes both the notion of difference and deferral. Playing with words, for Derrida, is like the play of girls: it allows a disruption of discursive categories, binaries, and the expectations which accompany them. Differance applies to girlhood because the girl is always-already other; female, young, and typically voiceless, she is always marginal. 192 Derrick's project is to situate his work on the "margins of philosophy," but the idea of marginality is firmly entrenched in the concept of difference itself. Joining the concept of difference with deferral, Derrida articulates that to be outside of the centre is to be continually deferred, and that to be different and deferred is to be continually denied power. Higginbotham's work argues that girls can capitalize on their invisibility by escaping social control. Just as Derrida finds freedom in the "free-play" of language, girls are able to find freedom in their play.
The differance of girls has been hailed as the primary reason for the emergence of
"girlhood studies." This new interdisciplinary field acknowledges that, despite four decades of academic feminist theory, girls remain a largely under-studied and under- theorized group. Girlhood studies aims to shift "girls to the centre of study" in order to
"understand the complexities of girlhood" (Lamb and Brown 161). The South African feminist journal Agenda recently published an edition on the subject of "girlhood." The edition brings up many local issues for South African girls, the predominant one of which is sexuality. Most of the articles touch on HIV/AIDS, gender-based violence, or sex work/slavery. These issues are pronounced in new ways. Many of the authors discuss how parents used to fear their daughters would get pregnant, but now they fear HIV and rape much more strongly. The control over the girl's body remains consistent across these generational differences. Dancing in the Dust, about a girl growing up in the 1970s, reflects back on some of these shifts as they continue to position girlhood in the South
African nation. Agenda makes the claim that girls have new challenges, but they have also had to be fighters. Ironically, girls growing up with greater challenges than their 193 male counterparts (stemming from a lack of gender-based privilege and greater threats of violence), are sometimes enabled a greater sense of their own toughness. Vasu
Reddy's "Turning Sugar and Spice on its Head: Recent Research on the Gendered
Meanings within Girlhood Studies" makes this point. Tihelo exemplifies how tough some girls become when faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges.
Because of its interdisciplinarity, the field of girlhood studies often combines social and literary theory. Scholars who discuss girl-characters rely on social and psychological configurations of "the girl," and social and psychological theorists rely on literary examples. For this reason, Molope's contribution is significant as even the South
African studies of girlhood have had to rely on British literary inscriptions of the girl.
Perhaps as girls are written into local South African literature, local studies of "the girl" can better understand how her construction in literature and social science may coalesce.
One of the main figures used by the social sciences and literary study to describe, portray, and define girlhood is Hamlet's Ophelia. A figure not only of girlhood but of differance itself, Ophelia is set up in opposition to Hamlet. She represents not only difference (she is female, but more importantly she is daughter to Polonius, advisor to the king/uncle/father who is Hamlet's nemesis), but also deferral. The famous "get thee to a nunnery" line, a comment on Ophelia's virginal girlhood as well as the marking of her deferral by Hamlet, ultimately leads to her insanity. Caught between the competing patriarchal commands of 194 her father and her love, Ophelia kills herself. In doing so, she becomes "the symbol of a crisis of girlhood" (Gonick 10).137
Ophelia has come to symbolize stricken girlhood in the social sciences. There are young women who refer to themselves as "Ophelias" as a way of characterizing their depression and weakness as it is tied to their femininity (A. Harris 5). Mary Pipher's pop- psychology book Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls is largely responsible for this phenomenon. The book argues that ours is a "girl-poisoning world" and cites case studies of girls who have experienced psychological problems as a result of their girlhood. Linking Hamlef s Ophelia with present-day "Ophelias," Pipher suggests that madness is a product of the challenges of, and to, girlhood. Pipher comes from an explicitly feminist analysis, and even approximates feminist theory. Although she does not cite Judith Butler, she cautions that at puberty "girls become 'female impersonators' who fit their whole selves into small, crowded spaces" (27). The book is well-intentioned, suggesting that feminist practice can and should be deployed towards "saving" girls. The problem with this type of discourse is that it emulates the paternalism that many feminists seek to fight against. Evidence of Pipher's own belittling attitude towards girls is rife throughout the book, but the title of her first chapter, "Saplings in the Storm" serves as a
137 In the literary sphere Ophelia represents the construction of girlhood. She is inevitably feminine with the accoutrements of girlhood, including her flowers and dresses, comprising a significant part of her presence on stage (Lerer 240). Ophelia is girlness personified. Mary Cowden Clarke's The Girlhood of Shakespeare's Heroines is one of the first books ever to be published on the subject of girlhood. In this novella, Cowden Clarke revitalizes Shakespeare's girl-heroines by imagining fictional realities that recuperate their power. One of the most prominent stories is "Ophelia: the rose of Elsinore" (1907), which is powerful because, as noted above, Ophelia represents girlhood in such a direct and ceaseless way. From a literary point of view, girlhood has been constructed as the site of difference and deferral, with Ophelia being a central figure in that construction. 195 good example. Ultimately for Pipher, girls (Ophelias) continue to require "saving" instead of being able to save themselves.
Just as in the genealogy of girlhood, described above, there is a conflict in social science theories of girlhood between defining girls as powerless and defining girls as having the inherent capacity to escape notice and to therefore resist. Marina Gonick notes that there is a central contrast in contemporary girlhood between "Reviving Ophelia" and
"Girl Power". The idea of "girl power" emerged out of popular culture through the
"Spice Girls" who made girlhood not only visible but marketable. Gonick argues that these competing discourses construct contemporary girlhood. Girls are assumed to be essentially powerful, but also powerless. It is as a result of this contradiction that I consider Derrida's "differance" to be central to the concept of girlhood. "Reviving
Ophelia" and "Girl Power" establish a binary of girlhood, but most girls, of course, are in-between these. Just as Deleuze and Guattari's "intermezzo" girl is able to act as a "line of flight" in a rhizomatic construction of herself and her world, Derrida's notion of the differance of marginality affords girls the ability to "play" between the central metaphors that define them. They use their marginality towards their empowerment. This is particularly true of Tihelo who, as this chapter will demonstrate, uses play, performance, and the spaces in-between identity categorizations in order to resist.
The above literary and social theory about "the girl" tends towards a Western viewpoint. While girl studies as a recent phenomenon has made a deliberate effort at 196 11ft inclusion and diversity, all of the tracings of the genealogy of girlhood that I have seen rely on Western examples such as Ophelia. Some of the same aspects of girlhood apply to black girls, but their girlhood is continually marked and changed by their racial identity. Some emerging work on girlhood articulates some of these differences, such as
Debbie Weekes' work on the use of "girl" in American black communities.139 For
Weekes, "where my girls at?" is a common phrase that not only connotes but engenders the power that girls draw on from other girls. This once again reflects the tension between critical understandings of "girl" as oppressed versus "girl" as powerful, bell hooks, for example, cautions that the linguistic research on girls of colour tends to mask their oppression (xiii). hooks' Bone Black: Memoirs of Girlhood suggests that girlhood, if you are black, is highly disempowering. Although she cites her race, gender, class, and age- based oppression, she also notes that hers is a "story of rebellion." The tension between oppression and resistance remains.
Part of what makes Molope's Dancing in the Dust an intervention into the view of the subjectivity of girlhood is that it tells the story of a black girl from her point of view, including her work as a resister. Work of this kind has rarely been done anywhere, but is particularly absent in South Africa. In an interview I had with her, Molope said that she considers her book resistance literature simply because it features black girlhood and "so it's the kind of work that goes against everything we've been taught under apartheid in that it [...] shows the black girl under a very positive light." Molope is not the first to
138 For example, the journal Girlhood Studies, which debuted in 2008, contains articles in each issue that address girls across a range of continents, classes, races, etc. 139 Work like this is outside the purview of this dissertation, but makes interesting claims about the connections between girlhood and race. 197 create a narrator who is a black girl but, like Toni Morrison, she is still aware that black girls are "the people in all literature who [are] always peripheral" (Strouse, Qtd in
Rosenberg 436). Morrison says that "little black girls were props, background, [...] never centre stage." (436). Just as girlhood studies shifts girls to the centre of inquiry, novels of girlhood shift girls to the centre of narrative.
Increasingly there are stories such as Molope's that include first-person girl narrators who tell stories of resistance. Renee R. Curry's "I Ain't NO FRIGGIN'
LITTLE WIMP: The Girl 'I' Narrator in Contemporary Fiction" argues that
"contemporary girls, from the moment we meet them in fiction, already know who they are, where they live, and how they fit into their surroundings. [...They] defy fragmentation, and alienation, always-already occupying a self-aware 'I' [...even] in the face of rape, incest, death, or leaving their country. This new girl 'ain't no friggin' wimp'" (Saxton xxvii).140 While I characterize Tihelo differently ~ she does not immediately know herself, but comes into herself through the course of the novel ~ she is certainly "no friggin' little wimp" either. Like the girl-narrators that Curry discusses, she must face rape, death, and immeasurable violence. She resists not only the self-defeat and fragmentation that may have occurred, but also the oppressive state at the root of her oppression. Tihelo embodies the contradiction between girl as powerlessness and girl as resister. She knows that girlhood is assumed to be a position of weakness by the authority
140 Curry focuses on novels from Caribbean and African-American writers. There is a lack of similar analyses on South African girl-characters. This is partly because Molope's novels are among the first to specifically focus on girls. 198 figures around her and she uses it instead as a position and an identity of strength.
The next section articulates how Tihelo uses that strength to become a re/sister.
The Girl Freedom Fighter
The story of Tihelo's coming-of-age is the story of her becoming a freedom fighter. The narrative unfolds chronologically but is interrupted with memories. As
Tihelo develops, she marks the ways in which apartheid's violence has had an impact on her formative years. The memories coincide with the events as she experiences them; her more adult-like understanding is juxtaposed with her earlier childhood points of view.
These memories are often about major events in the history of apartheid and its resistance, thus linking Tihelo's personal development with the development of South
African politics. For example, Tihelo remembers the death of Steve Biko in connection with her sister's birthday party (94), a linking which both betrays her childlike understanding and illustrates the ways in which the personal and political intertwine.141
Tihelo's decision to become a freedom fighter arises out of these memories. She considers what it means that her "earliest memory is of feet in black shoes and black socks running, bodies in black and white diving" (103). Tihelo is too young to recognize the black and white clothing that signals school-aged children in their school uniforms, but she understands their terror. The children are running from police who are shooting at them. The scene recalls the Soweto Uprising; the 1976 shooting of school-children who
141 The case of Steve Biko, founder of the Black Consciousness movement in South Africa, was a well- known catalyst for intensified struggle in South Africa. His death while in police detention signaled the extreme violence and repression of the apartheid state. Hailed as a hero and a martyr, Steve Biko continues to inspire resistance activity, and he has been commemorated as one of the most important anti-apartheid figures. Tihelo's identification with him is an essential aspect of her resistance. 199 were protesting the law declaring Afrikaans the language of instruction in school. As
Tihelo's first memory, this constitutes a moment of both confusion and assurance: she is unaware of precisely what happening, but knows to associate terror with the blurry image of "black and white." The blackness and whiteness of the uniforms, imprinted on her mind as an image of chaos and fear, represents for her the racial politics of her time, particularly as they affect children. She learns in this moment that children may be shot at for going to school and speaking their own language; she learns — as children take shelter in her home — that nowhere is safe; she learns that this is somehow who she is. Tihelo reflects: "I do not know what they are feeling, but some day I will, some day I will run to dodge bullets, bang on strange people's doors, and beg for shelter" (103). As the narrative unfolds, these events do in fact occur. The narrative construction of this moment is complicated as the italicized section is a memory, but these last lines appear superimposed from her older (teenage) self, the narrator who tells most of the story. The temporality is blurry; Tihelo retells the story of who she was, in accordance with telling the story of who she is. The memory is being replayed in the present, although it is a reflection of the past. This signals the fluid temporality of girlhood that enables her to exist "in-between."
Tihelo's experience of girlhood can be best understood through Derrida's
"differance," his concept of difference and deferral. For Tihelo, her differance enables her resistance. She comes to see herself as oppositional to the apartheid state from her earliest memories, and the differences she embodies ~ of blackness, of femaleness, of age
— from those that constitute the centre of South African power, solidify her marginality 200 and therefore her impetus to create change. Although outside of this chapter, my concept of how deferral is tied to resistance is inspired in part by Langston Hughes'
"Montage of a Dream Deferred," which articulates how marginality, in his case of race, leads to deferral. The central question of the poems in the series "What happens to a dream deferred?" resonates with the above discussion of girlhood and imagination.
Tihelo is propelled into the struggle precisely because her dreams are apparently impossible given apartheid's oppression. Hughes' evocative question that ends the poem
"Harlem [2]," the best-known of the montage poems, asks: "or does it explode?" (426).
This is both a question and an answer. Hughes suggests that resistance necessarily accompanies intolerable oppression. This illustrates how "differance" might apply to
South Africa ~ a country that, many argue, continues to have its own dreams deferred ~ and to Tihelo. Tihelo grows up hearing about freedom fighters but their struggle becomes connected with her life when her friend Tshepo asks her "out of the blue" whether she knows how to make a "petrol bomb" (18). She learns that her good friend is modeling himself after his older brother and joining the resistance. The petrol bombs were a way for the resistance to "make the country ungovernable"142 by literally exploding the apparatus and infrastructure of the state and its citizens. Tshepo teaches Tihelo how to make a bomb because "everything owned by the government was up for complete destruction" (20). This textual moment signals Tihelo's introduction to freedom fighting, but also the end of her innocence. She reflects on this and acknowledges the moment as
142 See my introduction regarding the resistance movement's evocation of this phrase during the "State of Emergency." 201 "deeply saddening and painful" (20). Tihelo provides an answer to Hughes' questions. Her dreams are deferred and she therefore becomes part of the "explosion" of the structures that oppress her. A casualty of her resistance is her innocence, and differance for Tihelo is therefore inextricable from girlhood.
Differance signifies present absence. Because she is figuratively "unseen" in
South Africa, Tihelo (as a black girl) escapes notice, making her a powerful tool for resistance. No one suspects she is in the resistance because of her age and gender. She works with the resistance for months without even her mother's knowledge. She makes her absence - in the priorities, discourse, and social hierarchy of power ~ present by working in an "underground" movement that achieves genuine and powerful social change. It is important that Tihelo's absent presence be constructed through writing because Derrida's argument about differance is that it is the very mark of writing. In
"Signature, Event, Context," Derrida articulates ways in which writing is the mark of absence. He describes how, unlike through speech143 in which a speaker must be present and in real-time, a writer is absent at the time that her words are read. While many writers consider writing as a means to immortality — their writing can be read after they die -
Derrida argues that it is the absence of the author as opposed to their presence that stands out. He uses the example of the signature, a mark of presence (it is a representative of subjectivity; it is how one "makes their mark") that is necessary precisely because of its
143 Derrida refers to Austin's speech-act theory, in which speakers are able to "do things with words." The argument is that words are not merely symbolic but produce actions and consequences. Derrida argues therefore that in speech one is present, but in writing one is absent. One is doing things with words, but absents oneself from the product. 202 author's absence. A signature therefore does the opposite of what it intends to do: it affirms the absence of its author, rather than her presence.
I am indebted to Derrida's understanding of the signature because the most important line in the novel includes one. The novel ends with Tihelo signing off: "if you are ever looking for me in South Africa, my name is Tihelo Masimo, Revolutionary"
(189). In a Derridean understanding of her signature, this is not an affirmation of subjectivity but rather an affirmation of differance. The signature is a deferral; it marks the absence of Tihelo. This is important because Dancing in the Dust is a novel about the present absence of female freedom fighters in literature. As Molope creates Tihelo's signature (a double deferral), she is noting the ways in which such a signature is an intervention in the discourse of South African revolutionary literature and history. Girls are unseen — a present absence — in representations of freedom fighters. Derrida articulates how the signature is a figure of absence. Tihelo's assertion through her signature highlights the absence, the differance, of girls from the South African imaginary. Molope both actualizes Derrida's signature as absence and reverses it.
Tihelo's signature also articulates a presence; her self-naming as a revolutionary gives her an identity. Derrida writes that "a signature must have a repeatable, iterable, imitable form; it must be able to detach itself from the present and singular intention of its production" {Margins 391-2), just as a revolutionary must be able to exist in diverse contexts, adapt to their new circumstances, and continue to resist.
My understanding of Derrida's discussion of the signature, especially as it relates to girlhood, can only be conceived of alongside Deleuze and Guattari's articulation of 203 girlhood as lines of flight. The signature, as the mark of difference and of present absence, encodes the girl. Girls are deferred, are expected to "be seen and not heard" as the cliche goes, and are continually a present absence. Similarly, black South Africans under apartheid are a present absence: they are marginal, exist outside of the structures of power, yet consume the juridical and social constructs within South Africa.144 Just as the signature must remain intact despite its changing circumstance, so must the black girl.
The implications for a black girl who is also a freedom fighter is that she must remain "in flight." As Deleuze and Guattari conceive of the "woman-becoming" as a "line of flight," they articulate her production through the "war machine" {TP 307). Their "war machine" is more figurative than the apartheid resistance, but is highly applicable given the total- war nature of apartheid. Deleuze and Guattari's postulate that the "woman-becoming" is also becoming a "warrior" {TP 306), and because she is "becoming," she is able to rhizomatically adapt: "in a becoming, one is deterritorialized" {TP 321).145 The signature represents the differance of girlhood, but the "contexts" to which Derrida refers can be considered to be the fluctuating and unstable ground of the rhizome.
The contexts to which Tihelo adapts are multiple. One of the reasons she is a figure for the Deleuzian articulation of the girl as a "line of flight" is because for her, as a
144 There is a clear Foucauldean understanding of Derridean discourse here. The signature represents absent presence, as Derrida would say. However this discursive "context" is Foucauldean in the ways in which it enfolds into a "discursive explosion" around black South Africans, especially as it was employed to construct unequal power arrangements. 145 The issue of territory in South Africa is fraught. Deterritorialization is a crucial element of Derridean thinking, yet in South Africa, claims to land and territory are literal and hotly contested. One answer is that it is a privilege of being part of a colonizing nation (France) that allows the championing of loose spatial ties. Tihelo's character both highlights how one's connection to space roots experience (and resistance) but also imagines beyond it. She fights within and for her township but she always imagines herself elsewhere. 204 young and female South African, she quickly learns not to remain anywhere too long as nowhere is safe. In Geographies of Girlhood: Identities In-between, several authors construct arguments about how girls are globally, and continually, displaced. Part of their difference, their marginality, is the lack of a safe space for girls. In the realm of fiction this lack of space is represented through configurations of enclosure and danger. Deborah
Cadman's "When the Backyard is Closed and the Front Yard is Dangerous: The Space of
Girlhood in Toni Morrison's Fiction" highlights how, in the representation of black girlhood, fiction continues to return to these metaphors of spatial entrapment and exclusion. Tihelo's first-person narrative in Dancing in the Dust begins with one such metaphor: "In my backyard the peach trees had shed most of their fruit, and the few peaches that still clung to the branches were rotting in the heat" (3). The backyard for
Tihelo is not "closed," as Cadman claims, but is enclosing. As with the fruit, she feels she has been there too long. Given that it is a coming-of-age novel, the metaphor of ripening is apt. Tihelo longs to leave the space of the backyard but is told that to play on the township streets is too dangerous. Her mother instructs her to sell popsicles from their backyard during the school holidays. This way she cannot go out onto the dangerous streets. This is how Tihelo comes to finally associate her backyard with a prison: "[...] you could only do so much playing in the same yard day after day. I resented my mother and felt that she had locked us up" (36). She is enclosed and limited due to apartheid's violence but this does not guarantee her safety. She notes to herself that "policemen in their obnoxious and invasive green vans roamed the streets to make us feel uncomfortable in our own territory" and that "serenity around here had become so 205 unfamiliar that when it did come it made you suspicious" (3). Her enclosure does not guarantee her safety; the entire township is a battleground.
The student movement emanates out of this entrapment. Prior to joining the resistance, Tihelo contemplates high school students (she is still in primary school at the time) who become violent all around her: "It had become clear that the high-school students - the ones who were at that point feeling that the streets were not enough for them, the ones who had begun to understand how trapped we all were in the lekeishenes146 - were the ones screaming and seething. [...] The riots [...] were coming right into my own backyard" (20). The metaphor of the backyard equates Tihelo's personal space with the political battleground. As she grows to be the same age as these high-school kids she has watched there is no sense that she can escape those streets or the entrapping lekeishene. Their "location" is fixed and it is dangerous. Maureen Isaacson's review of the novel notes the spatial metaphors: "when [Molope] says that the street will eventually swallow these children, we believe her." Isaacson's analysis posits that Tihelo is drawn to the resistance, as the other students described above, because "she discovers that fear on the frontline is no different from the fear one experiences when cowed at home" (18). Acting as a line of flight, Tihelo resists her entrapment in a fixed location.
Defying her mother, she goes to the SASO house in order to join the resistance.
The spatial narratives that encode the girl's lack of space continue despite
Tihelo's resistance activities. Tihelo aims to find retreat from the "location" and its
146 "Although where we lived was officially known as the township, we also called it all kinds of different things that really meant nothing, such as lekeishene (the location), reservation, and kasie (also location or place)" (Molope 14). The renaming means "nothing" because it does not change the ways in which the townships entrap Tihelo and those she knows. 206 violence in the SASO house. Unfortunately, she finds that she is uncomfortable in this space as well. Tihelo juxtaposes narratives of both domesticity and danger in her description of the house. She begins the section bluntly admitting that she feels "very uneasy in that house" (41). She reflects that she likes "the kitchen aromas of baked bread and coffee" (41) which symbolize the "houseness" of the house - it is a place in which people come to enjoy the simple joys of community and familial relationships. However, its domestic features are part of its "underground" character. The SASO house must perform its "houseness;" it must be perceived to be a house like any other on the street otherwise everyone inside is in danger. The house is both visible and "underground:" from the outside it appears like "just another quiet family home" (41) but "unlike the outside, the inside of the house felt uncomfortable because I was always aware that we were in the middle of something precarious" (42). The apparent safety of both her yard and the SASO house betray Tihelo. Both become, for her, metaphors for imprisonment.
It is not only the precarious nature of their work that disheartens Tihelo about the
SASO house; it is also the masculinism it contains. She enjoys her work, such as making fliers and t-shirts147 for resistance activities, but after several protests in which comrades are killed or arrested she begins to feel trapped again. Tihelo considers her friend Mohau, now firmly entrenched in the resistance, and asks, "Was it a macho, manly thing that drove him to want to be at the forefront of riots and demonstrations?" (65). Deleuze and
Guattari conceive of the girl as a line of flight for two reasons. The first is that a girl is in
1471 find an interesting contiguity between Tihelo's resistance work and that of Jacklyn Cock. Cock, whose anti-militarist discussion of girls in the resistance informs this chapter, created "Another mother for Peace" shirts as her own act of resistance during apartheid (Suttner 248). 207 a "double war machine" (TP 307) as her femaleness compounds the violence of her society. Secondly, girls are not a fixed identity but are in flux, they are "woman- becoming," and this becoming allows them the flexibility to shift in subjectivity and location. Tihelo, fed up with the masculinism of SASO, leaves. When she ultimately returns, it is because so many students have been arrested that only she and another woman in SASO remain (108). Tihelo leaves SASO, but then returns when the conditions improve for her as a freedom fighter and as a girl. Rhizomatically, Tihelo is in flight; she changes locations, always in flux, moving according to where she is safest and most powerful. Deleuze and Guattari would call this deterritorialization; the girl moves between spaces, she situates herself in different contexts. For me this also reflects the ways in which the girl is differance; her deferral and difference from the centre create her deterritorialization, and it is from that elsewhere-space that she enacts her resistance.148
Cadman argues that in the literature of girlhood all space is designed to entrap or to reveal danger. In Dancing in the Dust these metaphors are intensified: Tihelo's activity within SASO leads to her imprisonment, and her resistance within prison — to the sexual assault from a prison guard - leads to solitary confinement (170). Tihelo resists the spatial limits that come with girlhood throughout the novel. She ignores her mother's attempt to enclose her in the backyard, she resists the enclosure of the SASO house by resisting the masculinism of its movement, and then she resists those who imprison her.
Solitary confinement is an actualization of the ways in which her role as a freedom
148 De Certeau specifically articulates how the diffusion of space affects resistance. See my introduction for elucidation. 208 fighter emerged through, and was defined by, a lack of space. She considers "maybe if I had been as good as they wanted me to be and not resisted, cursed, and screamed, I would be in a cell with more light" (170). This is not a regret, but simply a consideration, as Tihelo has always articulated her need to resist apartheid in order to resist all of these microcosmic ways in which she is contained. The spatial metaphors in Dancing in the
Dust tell the story of her resistance. She is "deterritorialized" but she is able to use her girlhood in all of these situations and locations in order to resist.
Tihelo is a product of her fixity and her feeling of being trapped. Her involvement in the resistance is motivated by being able to one day escape, which she articulates repeatedly throughout the novel. Because she is desperate to imagine a future for herself, she continues to attend school as often as possible. This is a serious breach of the expectations for a SASO member as the students had called for a boycott on education.
For Tihelo this is not a contradiction but rather an integral part of her resistance work: "I had to go on believing that I would eventually leave, otherwise I could not fully be a comrade" (120). She considers that she wears a different "mask" at school to appear a
"good, school-loving child" which differs from the mask she wears at SASO, where she considers herself a fierce comrade (120). These different "masks" signal something about the ability for girls to resist in a way that others cannot.
There are expectations for girls to behave in particular ways, but girls also escape some of the expectations of adulthood. While, generally, girls are taught to be "good," they can learn to wear a "mask" of goodness while continuing with surreptitious activities. One of the ways in which girls are able to uniquely resist is through their play. 209 Tihelo is able to go to the SASO house because, as many girls play at one another's houses, this is within the expectations of normal girlhood. Instead of play, Tihelo engages in work, but to do so she relies on the narratives of play - she "plays" the good girl in order to get away with being a resister. Theorist Ruby Lai's work on the literary girl figure describes how play might be used to subvert restrictions on girls. In a very different context, she describes a narrative of a girl who tells her mother she is going to
"play" so that she can meet her lover.149 Tihelo acts like a child in order to take on the responsibilities of an adult. She uses play in order to enact her subversion.
Just as above I describe girls as differance, and connect that difference and deferral to a present absence, the concept of play is also about present absences. Derrida's formulation of deconstruction, in particular as a textual strategy, invokes the notion of
"free play." He argues that free play is the disruption of presence, and by that he means a centre to any structure. Keeping in mind that Derrida's focal binary to deconstruct is the centre and the margin, his description of free play necessitates a concept of resistance.
For Derrida, free play is a rupture to the illusion of presence that is central to any structure - it indicates where there are gaps, breaks, holes. These gaps (absences) indicate that the centre (presence) is never whole. In Tihelo's case, she is attacking the apartheid system and the rupture she creates is through her freedom to play which is inherently connected to her girlhood. Derrida suggests that freeplay is the interplay between
149 In the fluidity between girlhood to womanhood, it is interesting to note that women sometimes do the opposite: some women must pretend to be "working," or in some sense pursuing their responsibilities, in order to find time/space to "play." 210 presence and absence, so if we consider the girl as the figure of differance, it makes sense that she should use her play to create a rupture in the power of apartheid.
Dancing in the Dust is a portrayal of girlhood resistance, through play, to the oppressive structures and spaces that comprise her context. The novel gets its title from the repeated instances of Tihelo and other girls "dancing in the dust" of the township. The image is a reclamation of space and play, as the girls find ways of celebrating, playing, and experiencing joy, in spite of the conditions of their environment. Tihelo's tone as she describes this dancing is child-like. Molope occupies the voice of girlhood in order to make the connection between the celebrations in the township that arise despite difficult circumstances, and the experiences of childhood play:
There is a reason dancing is known as thuntsha lerole, or shooting the dust. When
you are really feeling the music all the way down your legs, it goes and settles in
your feet and becomes so heavy that you have to hit your foot really hard on the
ground, swaying your body back and forth and from side to side. By the time you
are done going up and down the street, your clothes look like you have just been
frolicking in a tub full of dust. (86)
Later in the novel, dancing in the dust becomes more a metaphor of resistance than of play. As the protesters march, they dance (known as the toyi-toyi in South Africa),150 and the image of dancing in the dust transforms: "we were masses moving as one, covered in the dust we were dancing in. From a distance you would probably not have seen people dancing so much as a dust storm rising" (128). Dancing in the dust is an image that
150 Chapter one includes a longer discussion of the toyi-toyi and how its rhythm fosters resistance. 211 oscillates between play and resistance.151 This oscillation is made possible by
Tihelo's position as a girl. She is forced to make the best out of surroundings which signal her lack of value in her society (the township dust evokes a sense of desolation), and this she does by dancing her resistance. The dust that covers her initially is a sign of her childhood; girls get dirty as they play. However the image of the "dust storm rising" is a threatening image. The play of girlhood is transformed into resistance activity.
Despite the way in which Tihelo must "play" in order to be part of the resistance movement, her work is serious and dangerous. As with many young women who were part of the resistance movement in South Africa Tihelo is given a range of jobs. If she is discovered as being part of the resistance, she knows she will be imprisoned, tortured, or killed. The story of women in the resistance movement is one that has seldom been told.
Given that there could be no clear demarcation between the "front lines," and one's personal life, resistance could include a wide variety of activities. Tihelo arranges medical care for victims of torture, drives other comrades around (commandeering civilian vehicles to do so), relays messages and information between comrades, and publicizes resistance activities and protests (119). This mirrors the historical reality for women in the resistance.
Raymond Suttner's "Women in the ANC-led Underground" is one of few historical accounts of women's participation in the South African resistance. One of the
151 The image of "dancing in the dust" reminds us of the mourning and celebrating that was a frequent occurrence at the funerals of apartheid martyrs. Gcina Mhlophe's poem "The Dancer" brings up similar issues. See my first chapter. 1521 make this argument throughout the dissertation with Michel de Certeau's theories of the resistance of the everyday in mind. 212 reasons so little information exists about this history is that "because there were so many informal ways to participate, it is impossible to tell how many women were involved" (237). Another possible reason is that, as with resistance activities in a range of global contexts, women tend to take on or be assigned supporting roles, while men have more visible roles. Suttner notes that some women fighters describe their experiences within the resistance as "replicating patriarchal relations;" the women were asked to perform "unimportant" or supportive roles while the men were "cast as heroes" working on the front lines (233). Partly this is an issue of perspective; these "supporting roles" saved lives, and should not be distinguished from front line work in terms of value.
Jacklyn Cock's research on women and militarization echoes that of Suttner as she claims that some women had to resist not only the structures of apartheid, but the structures within the resistance movement that limited their participation (159).153
The need for women to resist both the sexist-racism of their state and the sexism within their movement is reflected in Tihelo's narrative. Tihelo remains critical of the student movement in particular because she is aware that the struggle perpetuates some of the hierarchies of power that it should aim to resist:
Information about women freedom fighters was hard to come by, yet I knew from
my experience that there were many of us, from many different age groups. It was
153 Cock's overall argument is not that women should have been employed in a more meaningful way. She articulates the complexity of feminism's view of militarization (equal participation versus a feminist pacifist ethic). Cock cites Mary Wollstonecraft's evocation that women should not have an equal right to bear arms because their roles as mothers preclude the desire to do so. However she notes that in South Africa the "connection between feminism and pacifism is loosened" because women felt so strongly about overthrowing apartheid (166). The questions Cock raises about feminism and resistance activity are outside of this discussion but they reflect the need for more discussion about women resisters - a discussion that has yet to fully emerge because of the absence of information about women's participation. 213 not hard to understand why the men's efforts were better documented. They
had a way of taking over and making it look like it was only them fighting [....] I
spent a lot of time reflecting on what I was doing there as a SASO member, and
wondering if someday some history book would acknowledge that there were
many women working and risking their lives [...] (121)
This passage articulates both Tihelo's and Molope's objection to the exclusion of women in the history of freedom fighting. Molope says "I wanted to write something that said
'yes, women were a huge part of the anti-apartheid movement, and they weren't just supporting men'" (Handlarski interview). Tihelo considers whether "someday" the history books would include her experience, but Molope wrote Dancing in the Dust twenty years after that fictional moment. The history books continue to portray the resistance as being about male heroes doing masculine activities.154 This novel is an intervention into the South African historical imagination. It is also a critique of the ways in which gender roles insidiously inform roles within a resistance movement.
In spite of the problems of sexism within the movement, Molope's portrayal and the history it attempts to reflect indicate that women and girl resisters were able to attain a great deal of agency and power within the resistance. Cock notes that, despite sometimes feeling undervalued, some women resisters were able to use their femininity as a tool of resistance. She writes: "several MK informants linked their political and domestic roles. For example, Thandi Modise was termed 'the knitting needles guerrilla'
154 This remains true in general, but there continue to be notable exceptions. For more on the history of women's resistance in South Africa see Brooks (2008), Russell (1989), Barrett et al. (1985). 214 [...] because while she was operating underground as an MK cadre reconnoitering potential military targets, she tried to look as ordinary as possible and carried a handbag from which a pair of knitting needles protruded" (160). This demonstrates that resistance work and femininity were not and are not necessarily at odds with one another. The domestic symbol of the knitting needles was both a decoy for, and physical manifestation of, the feminine. The needles were meant to signal Modise's innocence by symbolically asserting that she was not part of the resistance. To those within the resistance, however, the needles symbolized Modise's domestic and feminine attributes. They became a visual representation of how it was possible under apartheid to use one's femininity to one's advantage in freedom fighting.
Female freedom fighters experience both an element of agency and of victimization. This becomes increasingly important when those female fighters are girls.
The South African resistance was not the first and only time that girls participated as fighters. While critical thought tends to object to child fighters in wars some research suggests that sometimes such involvement is an important way to empower children.
Chris Coulter's Young Female Fighters in African Wars: Conflict and its Consequences argues that, for girl fighters in particular, dismissing them as victims arises out of the stereotypes we have of females and children much more than their historical reality.
Coulter traces the involvement of girls as "invisible combatants" in a variety of African wars, indicating examples in which girls were able to achieve agency as a result of their participation (32; 40). Coulter notes that one-third of child soldiers in various wars and liberation struggles are girls (12) yet their stories are unknown. The few narratives that do 215 exist articulate girl fighters as victims, which continues to obscure the whole story.
Molope's novel presents some of the problems within the resistance movement for girls but also how the process of surviving those problems engenders incredible empowerment. Tihelo's coming-of-age story is told through her experiences as a freedom fighter in order to highlight how one can overcome personal and political obstacles in the development of subjectivity and identity as a woman and a fighter, a re/sister.
One of the largest struggles girl fighters must endure is against sexual assault. In the novel, Tihelo's first experience with this is through her mother. One day, on her way home from work, Tihelo's mother is arrested in a scuffle between police and commuters during a pass-raid.155 When she finally emerges from prison the next day, her clothes are torn and she refuses to speak or eat (61). For Tihelo, this experience becomes one of the first times she must take on adult responsibilities in the house. It is also where she begins to understand the dangers associated with womanhood. It is because of this experience that she is not surprised that, after her own arrest, the guards attempt to sexually assault her. During an "interrogation" one of the guards repeatedly touches her breasts while the other watches. The scene describes her terror, her feeling of objedification, and her struggle to consider how she can possibly resist. At the moment the guard attempts to rape her, Tihelo yells "I'm so excited. I know it's illegal for me to sleep with a White man in this country, but if this is my lucky day, I may just consider breaking the law!"
(168). The surprise by which Tihelo takes the guard forces him to stop his behaviour. She points out the hypocrisy of the laws of "apartness" and the ways in which the prison
155 See my introduction for information about the pass laws. 216 system, which encourages contact between white guards and their black prisoners, violates its own principles. Her evocation of excitement is clearly absurd, and yet it points out the absurdity of the guard's desire. He is punishing her contravention of apartheid laws by enforcing them through a similar contravention. Tihelo's act of resistance is rooted in her race, but also her girlhood. She tells the guard "Come on, I'm fourteen, but that's okay because I'm experienced [...]" (168). As she continues to assert her mocking interest in the guard, she continues to overturn his logic. The guard had been excited by her "virginal" (167) qualities, and in this scene she is able to enact her criticism of his sexualization of girlhood. She combats his assumption of her virginity by feigning "experience." She is not sexually experienced, but she is experienced enough with the apartheid authorities to know that they thrive on power. Her feigned interest and feigned sexual experience serve to dislocate this power in the guard. It is clearly not her
"lucky day" if she is raped by a white man. Tihelo's chiding forces the guard to observe the ways in which his desire and behaviour are abhorrent, and are informed by his assumptions of colour and girlhood. Tihelo uses the girlhood tropes of virginity/experience to enact her resistance.
The history of girls and women in the resistance necessarily includes narratives of sexual assault. Again, this occurred both within the apartheid system's structures of power (particularly prison interrogations), but also within the resistance movement itself.
Cock, for example, describes instances of rape within the ANC that went unpunished 217 (161).156 In spite of some of these problems, women had much more to fear from their oppressors than their comrades; most women who were sexually assaulted as a result of their resistance activities were assaulted in prison. Sexual assault was very common in detention (Cries of Freedom 70). Molope's novel represents this history as part of the history of resistance. In this way, she challenges the overarching point of view that women resisters were either victims or supporters, and she articulates female freedom fighters as powerful agents of the struggle. Furthermore, the fact that her protagonist is a girl suggests that girlhood itself has been an under-theorized and under-explored site of such agency.
It is not surprising that so few literary works represent girlhood and sexual I ^7 assault. The subject is uncomfortable and surrounded by shame. Molope discusses the shame of being the victim of assault in her novel (176), again voicing some of the silences of girlhood resistance. She also, however, suggests that the shame is because women do not understand that they have been "assaulted by men who were afraid of our will" (176). This line blurs the distinction between agent and victim; Tihelo is learning that survivors are produced out of victimization, but that the victimization is a result of posing a threat. Articulating strength as an inherent component of victimhood is an intervention into the way we understand girlhood and resistance. Molope's novel is not
156 One of the only literary texts that represent rape in the resistance is Zoe Wicomb's David's Story. The similarities between the experience of Dulcie in that novel and Tihelo's critique of the masculinism of her movement are striking. Christa Baiada's analysis of David's Story contains some insightful analysis about how Dulcie retains her agency, even during the assault. 157 Yet due to the high rates of sexual assault amongst girls, including babies, South Africa does produce some of these narratives. Another example is Lara Foot Newton's Tshepang, a play about the rape of a nine month old baby. These narratives attract attention to the gender-based violence of South Africa and thus play an important role in resistance. 218 the only example of such an intervention. A useful comparison can be made between
Dancing in the Dust and Under the Tongue by Yvonne Vera. In this Zimbabwean novel, a girl is raped but struggles to overcome her trauma, and the narrative is the story of this overcoming. Robert Muponde argues that the narrative of overcoming is exactly the narrative of girlhood. Girls learn how to find their agency out of their victimization (26).
Molope's novel similarly explores trauma in order to represent it as a step towards resistance. The epigraph to the novel is a quotation by Audre Lorde: "It was not restraint
I had to learn, but ways to use my rage to fuel actions, actions that could alter the very circumstances of oppression feeding my rage." Tihelo's is the story of learning how to turn victimization and anger into power, and how to come into one's subjectivity in the process. It is the story of girlhood as resistance.
While it is difficult to imagine the rape of a girl, the prevalence of its occurrence demands its representation. In Molope's novel this becomes enfolded into the larger need for representation of the history of girls in a struggle. A main reason why the sexual assaults of girls in the struggle and in South Africa more broadly are suppressed is because of a continuing denial of girlhood and sexuality. The following section articulates ways in which the sexuality of girls is both inherent to Dancing in the Dust but is also an important part of the construction of the girl re/sister.
Sexuality and Girlhood
Girlhood is at once defined by, and defined in complete opposition to, sexuality.
This section of the chapter illustrates ways in which Freud's theories on sexuality produced a definition, and a concept, of girlhood. I examine the genealogy of girlhood 219 and sexuality in writing and literature in order to situate how Tihelo's girlhood sexuality is part of her resistance. In Deleuzian terms, Tihelo's "becoming-woman" also
1CO includes a narrative of becoming-lesbian. The text only hints at this element of her development; she is too young to engage in any sexual relationship. However there are textual moments of desire between Tihelo and comrade Dikeledi in the text. Tihelo frequently says she gets a "heavy feeling" and experiences "warmth" when Dikeledi speaks to her (65). Because their relationship is situated within the resistance movement,
Tihelo's sexuality becomes intertwined with her resistance activities. Tihelo and Dikeledi resist together and through their work Tihelo learns to love women differently. This is a different kind of re/sistering; their relationship is not 'sisterly' — instead it is sexually charged — but re/sistering connotes and includes the strength of the connection between women that arises out of resistance work, and this relationship exemplifies it.
All of the scenes that involve Dikeledi and Tihelo are at SASO. Dikeledi is a much older and more experienced comrade. When Tihelo decides to leave SASO initially, Dikeledi honours and thanks her for her work (65). Dikeledi is, for Tihelo, the antidote to the male-dominated space of the SASO house. She ultimately draws Tihelo back to the movement. This occurs after several months, after a protest that ends with mass shootings and arrests. Fearing that the resistance may be broken, Tihelo decides to return to the SASO house. She worries that the house will be raided and wants to save incriminating evidence as well as to preserve some historically relevant material. The
158 If Foucault's main concept is power, Deleuze and Guattari's is desire. As we shall see, their "Anti- Oedipus" mentality arises out of their critique of Freud's treatment of desire. 220 scene that ensues gestures towards Tihelo's desire for Dikeledi. Tihelo enters the house cautiously, and because of the intensity of the security, and because she wants to remain invisible to onlookers outside, she crawls around on the floor. It is in this position that she finds Dikeledi, also crawling, as their "faces met at the passage like two dogs about to kiss" (108). Tihelo notes her attraction: "I had to admit she was really beautiful when she smiled. I had never seen her face glow like that" (109). Although there is no sexual relationship, Tihelo uses the language of desire. Part of this discussion of Tihelo's sexuality rests on Adrienne Rich's conceptualization of the "lesbian-continuum," which describes female-centred networks and woman-to-woman supportive relationships — even those that do not contain a sexual element ~ as being part of the continuum. Rich's argument is that lesbianism is primarily about women loving women in all of its possible incarnations. While many have objected to this, claiming that lesbianism relies on a sexual component, Rich's theory makes particular sense as applied to girls. Girls (and children in general) are sexual beings. However their sexuality is in development and is not fully articulated. The grey zone between possessing a sexuality, but not engaging in sexual activity, situates girls uniquely on the continuum. For Tihelo, her relationship with
Dikeledi is as powerfully charged as a typical sexual relationship represented in fiction.
While she does not fully express a lesbian identity, she and Dikeledi love one another powerfully. 221 In this chapter I take the position that Tihelo is a lesbian, but that her lesbianism is somewhat shrouded, or at least undeveloped in the novel, as a result of her girlhood.159 In reference to Chicana texts, Catriona Esquibel investigates girl characters as lesbian "not because the characters (or their authors) self-consciously claim a lesbian identity, but because the texts, in their literary construction of such intense girlhood friendships, inscribe a desire between girls that I name 'lesbian'" (645). Her understanding of close friendships between girl characters as "lesbian" is similar to mine.
Tihelo's sexuality is not clearly defined, partly because she is still a girl. Nonetheless, her lesbianism comes to be an important part of her identity as a girl freedom fighter, a re/sister.
Derrida's concept of differance, used here to define girlhood, is also useful in terms of understanding narrative homosexuality. Lee Edelman's seminal Homographesis articulates how the homosexual figure in literature has historically been used as a figure for difference, not only signifying that gay characters are "different" from their societies, but articulating that any difference can be understood as "queer." Part of his theory relies on differance: "[...] the confusion that results when difference collapses into identity and
159 When I interviewed Molope I asked her whether she saw Tihelo as a lesbian. She hinted that the answer was yes and no. She says that her decision not to fully articulate her sexuality was "a huge cop-out, really" because of her own discomfort being "out" in South Africa at the time of the novel's publication. I think of Shaun de Waal's "A Thousand Forms of Love: Representations of Homosexuality in South African Literature," particularly his evocation that "several writers have chosen to deal with the representation of homosexual desire in literary form, to write out and to write out o/their own sexuality marginality" (244). Molope is inscribing her own resistance through Tihelo. In the interview she said "I did think that [Tihelo] had a crush on Dikeledi, obviously, but I didn't get into that because I felt I wasn't comfortable." She also notes "I wasn't sure where I wanted to place her sexuality, and I wasn't sure that it was even appropriate to discuss that more overtly at her age." All of this reflects the resistance of her writing; despite her discomfort there is a narrative of dissident sexuality as part of Tihelo's overall dissidence. It also reflects how the difficult terrain of girlhood sexuality leaves gaps and fissures that allow for readings and interpretations that may be, in a Derridean fashion, outside the text. 222 identity unfolds into differance is [...] central to the problematic of homographesis"
(10). Edelman is articulating how homographesis (queer writing; the writing of the queer; writing queerly) emerges out of differance; the difference and deferral of queerness that both sets the gay character apart from his/her society, but also empowers him/her to use that oppositional position to redefine that society. For the queer girl character, her differance is intrinsic to both her girlhood and her sexuality, and the relationship between the two allows her to re/sister in ways that straight characters cannot. Part of Tihelo's resistance work is informed by her woman-becoming, lesbian-becoming, existence.
Homographesis can sometimes pertain to the "coming-out" novel. This is a particular iteration of the bildungsroman, of which Dancing in the Dust is an example.
When a novel is both "coming-out" and "coming-of-age" it "subverts the ideological implications of the traditional Bildungsroman not only by questioning conventional images of girlhood and femininity but also by challenging the cultural constructions of heterosexuality and, ultimately, by providing alternative models of female identity"
(Anievas Gamallo 119). Molope's novel positions girlhood as the site not only of a critique of apartheid's racism, or the sexism of her society and her movement, but of the very heterosexism which defines girlhood. Interestingly, it is because of the sexism in the resistance movement that Tihelo and Dikeledi end up spending so much time together.
All of the male comrades are either in exile or in prison or deep in the underground.
Dikeledi and Tihelo are left alone to do the work at SASO headquarters, turning that domestic space into a queer space. For this reason, Pumla Gqola argues that "Tihelo's complex sexual agency disrupts the heteronormative freedom fighter figure" (2004). 223 Tihelo's sexuality is another means towards her resistance. This "coming-of-age-in- the-resistance" novel is also a "coming-out-in-the-resistance" novel,160 which compounds the intervention Molope makes into the narrative of South African resistance.
The issue of sexism within the resistance movement, despite the lack of circulation of its discourse, is better understood than homophobia within the struggle.161
Tihelo's "differance" from both her South African society at large, where being black, female, and young necessitates marginality, is reinforced by her "differance" within the movement: she is queer, female, and young in this masculinist space. Although she is part of a black majority, Tihelo represents those who are marginalized in spite of that majority. This is how the figure of the black girl, especially one whose sexuality is in question if not in flux, represents the pre-transitional South African re/sister: she is in- between relations of power and constantly shifting the demarcations of how those power constructs define her. Simon Nkoli, a South African gay activist who, like Tihelo's character, participated in the student movement, notes that "black comrades told me, whenever I brought up the issue of gay rights, that I was 'hijacking the struggle'" (264).
Women were often accused of this type of "hijacking" when they articulated a need for a feminist component to the resistance movement. In spite of this, and due in part to the courageous resistance activities of women, there has always been a discourse of gender-
160 The "coming-out" novel has not, for reasons this chapter will explore, had many iterations in South Africa. There are a few, such as K. Sello Duiker's Thirteen Cents. For more on the genre in South Africa see Munro. 161 Monique Wittig's Les Guerilleres, a novella that notes women's "differance" in language and discourse by using "elles" (French feminine plural) for the universal subject, has interesting parallels with Dancing in the Dust. Both can be understood through a Derridean logic, and both situate women as fighters as a result of their marginality. 224 based liberation alongside national liberation. Gay rights, on the other hand, were very seldom even on the agenda. Tihelo's sexuality acts as a further challenge to the hetero/sexism of her movement, and the larger society to which it sets itself up in opposition.
Earlier in this chapter I make the argument that girlhood, in Deleuze and
Guattari's understanding of girls as "lines of flight," and my application of Derrida's
"differance" to girls, allows the girl to remain under the radar. She resists through "play," she escapes certain adult expectations that would limit her, and as such she is in a position to engage in resistive activity. This applies especially to sexuality. The combination of play and sexuality can be understood as "jouissance." Derrida conceives of jouissance as the climactic pleasure experienced in both play and sex. Irigaray extends this notion of jouissance into an act of resistance, hoping that "womanhood would demand the right to pleasure, to jouissance, even to effective action" (226). Similarly,
Helene Cixous' "Coming to Writing" argues that women must interrogate their own jouissance in order to resist oppression. All of these configurations focus on writing as jouissance, and I therefore consider the concept as I analyze Tihelo. More importantly, however, is the way the concept of jouissance corresponds with differance; both enable and function through play, and both therefore have a particular application in the realm of girlhood.
Ironically, because society disavows girlhood sexuality, girls can engage in sexual or romantic relationships with other girls without it appearing to contravene social mores.
This irony has implications for how girlhood lesbian sexuality and desire may be 225 understood. Before the novel hints at Tihelo's same-sex desire, it indicates the intimacy of girlhood. Tihelo remembers playing with her best friend Thato and sharing stories of their neighbour who they believe to be a witch. As the girls speculate on how the neighbour may be planning to kidnap them, Tihelo recalls, "at this we jumped onto each other and hugged tightly. We did that often when we were both afraid, as if to protect each other" (29). While this is not desire per se, it illustrates the blurriness of the lines between girlhood friendship and intimate behaviour. An article entitled similarly to this dissertation: "Re/sisters: Girls' Studies and Friendships," (Aapola et al.) makes the argument that friendships between girls are expected to be close relationships and are therefore not viewed as societally dangerous or deviant the way close relationships between adult women sometimes are. Precisely because girls are expected to have their strongest relationships with other girls, can they engage in queer activity and desire. The authors caution that "if she operates outside the heterosexist norm altogether, she risks being excluded from prevailing definitions of girlhood" (149) but hopefully add, "yet girl friendships are intimate" (155) and therefore erotic relationships or connections are easier to hide. In this article, the term re/sisters refers to the ways in which sisterly relationships between girls are not only societally permissible, but are in fact encouraged.162 Tihelo is in a family and society that regulate her behaviour constantly. The freedom for girls to
162 While this argument pertains to girls in the United States, it has currency in South Africa where networks of "girl friends" are particularly encouraged and, according to my observations, particularly strong. Spurlin offers a historical hypothesis for how same-sex friendships in Southern Africa became increasingly intimate as a result of the migrant labour system's destruction of familial and community networks (59). The result was the need for women to work together to support their families. Of course, this is not the genesis of same-sex desire in South Africa. It does however particularize how "re/sister" relationships in South Africa are tied to the processes of apartheid to which they respond. 226 share intimacy is one space in which she is able to resist scrutiny and control. Her sexual development as a girl and as a lesbian resists both sexist and imperialist configurations of subjectivity.
Collectivity between women (and, in this chapter, in girls), is cited throughout this dissertation as being one of the modes through which resistance occurs. For Aapola et al. the close relationships shared by girls act as a "resistance" to heteronormative constructions and expectations of relationships that seek to divide women. William
Spurlin agrees in his Imperialism with the Margins: Queer Representation and the
Politics of Culture in South Africa. Spurlin argues that close relationships that fall along
Rich's "lesbian-continuum" resist the divide-and-conquer mentality of both heterosexism and colonization. Spurlin also cites Theresa de Lauretis' The Practice of Love, which makes the case that women on Rich's continuum demonstrate a solidarity between women that has wide-ranging applications in all sorts of resistance contexts (xvii), and concludes that "these relationships are 'feminist practice' that enact a potential site of decolonization while simultaneously challenging the heteropatriarchal imperatives of the nation-state" (76). Such an understanding particularly applies to a character like Tihelo who actively engages in resistance work. Her relationship with Dikeledi is spurred on through their resistance work, but in itself it challenges "heteropatriarchal" expectations.
De Lauretis applies concomitantly to the notion of lesbianism as resistance, as well as to an understanding of how the constructions of lesbianism and girlhood share a particular genesis: pathology. The first chapter of The Practice of Love articulates how
Freud's "Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality" termed both girlhood and lesbianism 227 within a psychoanalytic framework, marking some of their first discursive constructions. The link between girlhood and lesbianism, from a Freudian point of view, is that both are perverse, and therefore both are pathologized. In his "Three Essays,"
Freud outlines his view of the "Oedipus complex" in which boys love their mother and want to kill their father. As a result of the castration complex the boy eventually overcomes these feelings and settles into "normal" sexuality. This process also allows for the healthy boy to develop his superego, which regulates his sexual, and other, behaviours. Freud famously struggled as to where to place girls in this schema (On
Sexuality 326). As girls have already suffered the consequences of "castration" and penis envy, Freud could not understand their motivation for relinquishing their Oedipal feelings and settling into normative sexuality. Instead of concluding that there was a problem with the schema, Freud concluded there was a problem with the girl:
In girls the motive for the demolition of the Oedipus complex is lacking, as castration
has already had its effect. [...The Oedipal complex's] effects may therefore persist far
into woman's normal life. I cannot evade the notion (though I hesitate to give it
expression) that for women the level of what is ethically normal is different from
what it is in men. Their superego is never so inexorable, so impersonal, so
independent of its emotional origins as we require it to be in men. Character-traits
which critics of every epoch have brought up against women - that they show less
sense of justice than men, that they are less ready to submit to the exigencies of life,
that they are more often influenced in their judgments by feelings of affection or
hostility - all these would be amply accounted for by the modification in the 228 formation of their super-ego which we have inferred above. We must not allow
ourselves to be deflected from such conclusion by the denials of feminists, who are
anxious to force us to regard the two sexes as completely equal in position and worth
[....] {On Sexuality 342)
Freud's construction of the girl (this essay is entitled "The Anatomical Distinction between the Sexes," but clearly deals mainly with the social implications of sexuality and not mere biology) equates her immediately with poor senses of judgment and justice.
Even the "normal" girl is pathologized.
A girl-character like Tihelo, who seeks justice and displays excellent judgment, even in spite of her weightily oppressive surroundings, defies Freud's logic. Interestingly,
Tihelo subverts Freudian discourse even as she exemplifies it; the way Freud conceives of lesbianism opens the door for a "free-play" between the boundaries of both gender and sexuality. Lesbian sexuality is considered an aberration for Freud, but he believes that in the early stages of development ambiguities are "normal." Freud describes all infantile sexuality (for boys and girls) as "masculine" therefore making the case that women with immature sexuality "act like men" (On Sexuality 159). This has potential implications for women who retain some of their girlhood characteristics, and it also aligns girlhood with a female-identified sexuality. Freud positions girlhood in relation to sexuality pathologically, but also as an in-between space; young girls who are masculine may still be considered "normal." Tihelo, who participates in a resistance movement that is masculinized, and who also displays lesbian desire, both illustrates Freud's point and subverts it. She is not "normal" by the standards of her own society, but she uses the 229 ways in which she is defined and pathologized to spur her resistance. Freud argues that, despite feminist urgings, women can never be equal to men. Tihelo capitalizes on her girlhood, recognizing ways in which her position as a girl allows her to remain unnoticed and unsuspected (in terms of her roles as freedom fighter and lesbian), but all towards seeking an equality that Freud would deny her. Tihelo is the girl that Freud describes, but she is also capable of all he says she cannot be.
In a postcolonial perspective, there is much to critique about Freud. The argument that he sees women as a "dark continent"163 has implications for both feminist and postcolonial analyses.164 Rather than rehearsing those arguments, I am interested in the specific implications for Freud's theories on the everyday lives of South African girls.
Much of the Oedipus complex relies on a family unit which contains a father and a mother. However, the reality for many South African girls is that their fathers are a non entity in their lives. Tihelo grows up in a female-only household comprised of her mother, her sister, and herself.165 For Freud, the little girl directs her libido towards her father; she does not want a penis, but rather a child ("Taboo" 278). For a girl who grows up without a father, this formulation does not work. What Freud says about the mother- daughter relationship, however, can be apt. He says that, for boys, the mother's affection positions her as the boy's love-object but, for girls, the mother's "guardfiil watch" over
163 The term "Dark Continent" originates in the Enlightenment, in particular with Hegel. For an interesting discussion of the term see Hiteng. 164 Luce Irigaray's The Speculum of the Other Woman (1985) famously critiques Freud's sexism, including his idea of woman as "dark continent" (71). 165 Molope's second novel The Mending Season delves further into this theme. The protagonist Tshidiso is raised by three aunts. This female-only household attracts much attention, as neighbours speculate as to the reasons for the lack of men in the aunts' lives. The only conclusion: the women must be witches. 230 her daughter's sexuality leads to hostility (On Sexuality 153). Given the ways in which virginity in girls continues to be upheld as a necessary virtue,166 and given other social factors such as fear for girls falling victim to sexual violence, concerns over pregnancy and, increasingly, concerns over sexually transmitted infections, girls do find their sexuality to be watched and regulated.167 Freud argues that girls will rebel against the mother, who is the figure who attempts to curb their sexuality (Three Essays 379).
This phenomenon remains and is illustrated through the text of Dancing in the Dust.
Part of the narrative of Tihelo's coming-of-age is her coming into her sexuality.
Her lesbian identity aside, this novel is filled with the ways in which girls learn about sexuality through a series of cautionary tales. Tihelo has heard all her life that
"womanhood is not for girls with dreams" (82). Womanhood, in this case, means sexual activity. The notion of girlhood is reliant on a lack of sexual behaviour. Girlhood sexuality is both heavily regulated and denied/disavowed. Tihelo knows her mother had to make sacrifices once she got pregnant with Keitumetse, Tihelo's sister, and has always been taught to associate sex with danger. Tihelo, like many girls her age, rebels against her mother. She is not sexually active, but defies her orders of staying at home, seeking out the company of girls of whom her mother would not approve. Lebo, a neighbour, is known as a "[...] sekhebereshe, a derogatory word used for women who love the company of men openly and shamelessly" (43). Although Tihelo likes Lebo, she is also
166 Freud's "the taboo of virginity" details this from his psychoanalytic point of view. More recent social science theory, however, agrees that virginity is still valued in girls. 167 While Foucault's The History of Sexuality makes such an important contribution in terms of understanding how sexuality functions in terms of institutional power and discourse, it does not engage with girls and girlhood. This gap illustrates part of my argument about the disavowal of girlhood sexuality. 231 aware of how Lebo represents her fear of being stuck in the township (43). Still, Lebo enables Tihelo to begin to break away from her mother. Tihelo has already defied her
mother in joining SASO but her real resistance against her mother's control comes when
Keitumetse gets pregnant.
Part of Tihelo's coming-of-age is imbedded in this narrative of dangerous 1 AS sexuality. I am not arguing, nor is it my interpretation, that Tihelo becomes a lesbian as
a result of her fear of hetero/sexuality. Rather, her fear is part of her experience of
girlhood, as is the emergence of lesbian desire in some girls. When Keitumetse gets
pregnant she says she needs "to believe that the little girl in her was still alive, that she
would walk right through this predicament and come out unscathed" (79), and so Tihelo
gets a "green liquid" from Lebo for her sister (95). The novel discusses how the
choicelessness for girls is circumscribed through their lack of access to information about
sex, and then through a subsequent lack of access to resources. Yet, clinging to the "girl
in her," Keitumetse reverts to the imaginative space of girlhood described by Lerer. She
associates her girlhood with dreams, and her pregnancy with an end to both. She
168 A reviewer asked Molope about the sexuality in Dancing in the Dust and whether it was autobiographical. She replied, "I was constantly threatened by the women around me: 'You can't get pregnant. You can't do this and you can't do that.' [...] I was constantly on guard, afraid to get raped, afraid to get pregnant or sleep with a man." The reviewer surmises "Molope contends that this hypervigilance around a girl's sexuality had a dramatic impact on her own development and that she missed out on being comfortable with her sexuality and exploring her sexual curiosity. The hypervigiliance worked. Molope is one of those who got out, unpregnant if not unscathed [...] she is working on her third novel and is expecting her first child" (Smith 28). I include these lengthy quotations to articulate how the relationship between sexuality and fear informed (and continues to inform) girlhood sexuality in South Africa for a variety of social reasons. However, the reviewer affirms that this is a good thing: "the hypervigilance worked," and also "straightens" Molope out. Molope had a child with her lesbian partner Jen (whom she publicly names as her partner in the acknowledgements of The Mending Season), but the reviewer assumes that her pregnancy engenders her as part of a heterosexist framework that continues to normalize and regulate female sexuality. The review of Dancing in the Dust does not take up the themes of dissident sexuality, and the dissident sexuality of its author is also disavowed. 232 therefore decides to remain a girl vis-a-vis having an abortion. The irony is that such an adult choice and act becomes the route for Keitumetse's affirmation of girlhood.
Abortion is illegal, and procuring one for her sister is, for Tihelo, just another example of resistance activity. The abortion and the resistance are inextricable in the novel in other ways. The father of Keitumetse's fetus, Mohau, along with his brother and
Tihelo's good friend Tshepo, are being hunted by the police and must go into hiding
(103). The abortion is a figurative image for the lack of a future for children in the townships. Keitumetse almost dies, but does not regret her abortion because it saves the possibility for her escape, and saves her unborn child the pain of living in circumstances defined by a lack of choice and freedom. This section of the novel ends with Tihelo recalling how she "sobbed, mourning our childhood - mine, my sister's, Tshepo's, and
Mohau's" (103). Freud and others believe that a girl becomes a woman when she experiences her sexuality, but Tihelo's coming-of-age is rather about avoiding sexuality, and about the ways in which sexuality must become another facet of her resistance activity.
Tihelo's same-sex desire, her differance (according to a Freudian configuration of sexuality), and her own conflation of sex and danger, make her a "queer" figure. Deleuze and Guattari's "Anti-Oedipus" critiques Freud's view of sexuality. For them, desire is what allows a rhizomatic existence; rather than investing in the regulatory institutions of a defined sexuality, or even the body, Deleuze and Guattari advocate for relationships fuelled by a desire that remains "in flight." For them, desire is necessarily "schizo," and therefore they both replicate and challenge Freud's formulation of sexuality as pathology. 233 Joseph A. Boon articulates that Deleuze and Guattari's "Anti-Oedipus" also exposes how Freud "IS the link between psychoanalysis and colonialism" (284). Freud's sexual subject, and I would add that this applies to the girl ~ who by definition is pathologized - in particular, must explore his/her own "interior colony" (284) in order to manage it.
Psychoanalysis regulates according to a similar process of colonization: the "dark continent" is pathologized, explored, institutionalized, and controlled. Their conception of girlhood as "line of flight" and schizo applies to Tihelo's resistance work as a girl freedom fighter, and as a queer girl as well.
Queer theory and postcolonial theory have begun to be understood in relation to one another. Theorists are beginning to articulate how the oppressions and resistances of gay and (post)colonial subjects are intertwined.169 More important is an examination of how the institutions and social processes of imperialism reinforce and rely on, simultaneously, racism, classism, sexism, and homophobia. Critics such as Anne
McClintock argue that imperialism could only function through a (hetero)sexist division of labour (IL). Despite these congruities between queer and postcolonial theory, there are also divisions. Some theorists claim that postcolonial theory has remained heterosexist and has not adequately theorized the queer postcolonial subject. Similarly, some postcolonial theorists articulate how queer theory has been dominated by Western thought, remains a very bourgeois and racist school of thought, and has excluded postcolonial contexts. William J. Spurlin makes both claims. He argues that "postcolonial
169 The concept of "queer nation" serves as one obvious example. For a thorough example of postcolonial queer theory see Hawley {Postcolonial, Queer). 234 studies has neglected seriously the ways in which heterosexism and homophobia shape imperial, nationalist, and global power" (Imperialism 16) and also that"[...] discourses in Southern Africa, [...] with reference to emerging lesbian and gay movements among Africans, ignore the politics of sexuality as a site of decolonization"
("Queer" 218). Dancing in the Dust is an example of a novel that can bridge these gaps, as it requires the use of both postcolonial and queer perspectives. Tihelo's resistance work and her sexuality both concern her differance: because she is marginalized in her society, she works and "plays" to subvert the systems of her oppression. Spurlin's alignment of postcolonial and queer politics applies to Tihelo because "queer denotes an oppositional mode of analysis and political praxis that operates against the normalizing ideologies of nationality, race, gender, class, as well as sexuality, all of which marked the apartheid era" (Imperialism 19). This is Tihelo's project: her differance (which, I would suggest, incorporates an element of Spurlin's "oppositional mode of analysis") forms both her ideology and her praxis of resistance.
Above I describe ways in which gay resistance fighters were denounced for
"hijacking the struggle." Mark Gevisser's "A Different Fight for Freedom" articulates the specificities of lesbian freedom fighters and the history of their organizing in the face of both sexist and homophobic backlash from within their movements. Gevisser challenges the oft-repeated notion that queerness is a "colonial import" and is not endemic to South
Africa.170 He responds that "gay Africanism, a discourse only in its very early stages of development in South Africa, maintains that it is the censure of homosexuality that is a
170 Robert Mugabe is one famous proponent of this theory. 235 colonial import, brought to this continent by missionaries, and that there is an irony to the fact that latter-day Africanists have assimilated this Judeo-Christian biblical propaganda and reconstituted it as pre-colonial African purity" (72-73). This would not be Tihelo's argument, as her sexuality is undeveloped in the novel and her "queerness" is therefore something that informs her activism, but not something that drives its purposes.
She does not identify as someone who is fighting for gay rights, but rather as someone who is fighting for equality for all. Her feminist critiques of her movement, however, set
Tihelo up as a character who can resist within the movement, but who can also resist its internal oppressive ideologies. Tihelo's goal is to create a more equitable South Africa.
Several critics describing gay rights movements in South Africa play on the term
"rainbow nation" - the articulation by Archbishop Desmond Tutu that evokes acceptance and equality across races (for example, Peter Drucker's "Different Rainbows"). The implications for Tihelo's story in post-apartheid South Africa, which has seen skyrocketing rates of "corrective" or "curative" rape of lesbians171 (Lewis, "Rethinking"
104), are numerous. Molope writes Tihelo's story in the post-apartheid era and can therefore look retrospectively at life for girls in the resistance. However, Molope's novel also looks forward, to the decades after "freedom" has been achieved, but equality in the
171 "Corrective rape" has become both an accepted term and phenomenon in South Africa. Part of the messy discourse of the Jacob Zuma rape trial involved the court's questioning the integrity of Khwezi, his accuser. She identified as a lesbian, but had slept with men consensually, and had also accused six other men of rape. Given the high rates of sexual assault in South Africa for women in general, but lesbians in particular, the court's dismissal of the possibility of a woman being raped six times is naive. Moreover, the court's claim that if Khwezi were a lesbian she would have never slept with men reveals a lack of understanding of sexual politics (Selvick). Most importantly, the way the court treated Khwezi, highlighting her clothing, her sexual history, her history as a lesbian, and as a victim of sexual crimes, all demonstrate the power imbalances that continue to not only inform South African society, but dominate the very political institutions that are meant to protect against them. 236 "rainbow nation" has not been realized. Dancing in the Dust is a novel about not only the struggles of the past, but the struggles that remain. Tihelo is protected from some of the attendant problems of identifying as a lesbian because she is still too young to fully articulate this aspect of her sexuality. In a sense, she is "passing." The next section outlines how the novel treats passing as it relates to girlhood.
Passing
Passing is the purposeful misrepresentation of oneself in terms of gender, race, or sexuality. Passing is a highly politicized occupation; it calls into question societal categorizations of identity, but also the policing and consequences of their crossing.
Some argue that passing reinforces the divisions between identity categories (such as black/white, male/female, gay/straight) because passers change their appearances and performances ~ consequently changing the way they are perceived by others — rather than attempting to change the restrictive categories themselves. Some take the opposite viewpoint: if people can transcend the categories, it de-essentializes identity and ultimately does call the categories themselves into question. This chapter has already considered girlhood as a vehicle for various "crossings." It is a temporal and spatial in- between place that allows for some manipulation of expectations of identity. Molope's
Dancing in the Dust connects this type of girlhood "passing" with racial passing.
Throughout the novel, Tihelo is preoccupied with her colour. She is noticeably lighter than her mother and sister, and considers herself — as a result of her lighter skin ~ different from her community. Tihelo's colour serves as an obvious metaphor for the racial politics in South Africa: "I had always been aware of how different I looked, how I 237 was a lot lighter-skinned than most people I was growing up around. I obsessed over my colour, but that was nothing out of the ordinary because the entire country and its laws were based on obsessing over your colour" (7). Tihelo's lightness, however, is not simply a metaphor reinforcing racial divisions; her identity deconstructs those divisions.
The novel ultimately reveals that Tihelo is the daughter of a white woman, which challenges apartheid's logic of dividedness. Although she is unaware of it, Tihelo is 1 7"} "passing" as black. In South Africa, there has been lots of attention paid to "play- whites," people who passed as white in order to escape apartheid's brutality.173 Tihelo, conversely, is part of an oppressed community. The reasons for her location and identification within that community become part of the ways in which she becomes a re/sister. In the novel, Tihelo's girlhood marks her as "differant." Her racial ambiguity, what I term in this chapter as her "passing," compounds this differance, and allows the novel to pose a challenge to essential identity categorizations, as well as the binary divisions of apartheid thinking.
In his critique of philosophy, Derrida argues that the philosophical tradition relies on forced metaphors, that philosophy is a system of "catachresis" ("White Mythology"
255). The "flowers of rhetoric" produced by philosophy do not highlight meaning, but
172 Above I say that "passing" is intentional. In Tihelo's case, her real identity is kept from her. Rather it is her mother and community — all of whom know her secret - who allow her to "pass." Importantly though, once she learns of her white mother, her interest in the black resistance increases. She continues to identify as black. 173 Zoe Wicomb's Playing in the Light serves as an interesting contrast to Dancing in the Dust. Tihelo learns that she has a white parent, and the protagonist of Wicomb's novel learns that she was born black. Taken together, the novels make interesting claims about identity and difference in post-apartheid South Africa, where race is not supposed to have an impact on one's choices and opportunities, but where the legacy of apartheid continues to insist that identity is not so easily transcended. 238 obscure it. Derrida argues that philosophy intends to be the means towards rationality and logic, but instead presents an obstacle to them. Derrida uses the heliotrope, his own metaphor, to forge his deconstruction of philosophy. The heliotrope signifies a flower that turns towards the sun (one of the metaphors philosophy uses to illustrate rationality), but also the turning of the sun. Just as philosophy beckons one towards the "light," it leads away from it (250). Derrida terms the catachresis of philosophy "white mythology," but he does not adequately theorize the "whiteness" of the philosophical tradition he critiques. Derrida's interest in "whiteness" is the whiteness of the page of written philosophy. Always looking for what is in contrast to the surface, Derrida focuses on the white page on which writing sits. He points to what is unsaid, what is underneath, and what is unnoticed. Derrida frequently declared himself a text to be deconstructed, and in that vein his absence of critical analysis of race (and, for that matter, gender) is striking.
His "white mythology" is very white indeed; he critiques Western philosophy's assumptions without giving voice or attention to the very assumptions of race and culture that inform his own critique. I position Derrida's "white mythology" alongside his
"differance." While Derrida does not engage in race-based criticism, he does allow for its possibility through articulating ways in which writing circumscribes and becomes the site of difference (Writing and Difference).114
Molope's Dancing in the Dust illustrates how differance is able to expose the
"white mythology" that lay underneath apartheid's logic and orchestration. The metaphor
174 Derrida does tackle South African apartheid in his "Racism's Last Word" which focuses on the term "apartheid" as the consummation of all possible racist intonation. For an interesting reply concerning how deconstructing "apartheid" is meaningless unless it is properly historicized, see McCHntock and Nixon. 239 of the heliotrope — a turning towards and away from simultaneously — in this novel highlights the ways in which Tihelo's girlhood is connected with her passing, and illustrates the complexities of passing as resistance. I argue throughout this chapter that girlhood is differance. Seth Lerer's study of literary girlhood notes that one of the ways that girlhood is marked is through certain accoutrements that signify both femininity and youth (240). Ophelia and her flowers serve as Lerer's main example, and the symbol of the flower in terms of girlhood provides a parallel to Derrida's heliotrope: the flowers are the mark of marginality, exclusion, and differance. Because Tihelo is obsessed with her colour, she becomes like a heliotrope: she turns towards the sun, but her goal of
"lightness" evades her. At the start of the novel, Tihelo spends all of her time in the sun.
Knowing that she is different from her community, she tries to get darker: "this was my attempt at absorbing as much sun as I could manage, something I did because I was trying to get darker, having grown weary of my light skin, which stuck out like a sore thumb in my township" (4). Her difference from others is tied with her deferral; as Tihelo continues to ask about her light-skin, her mother and others change the subject. She comes to connect her lightness with a secret, a deferral of some truth or knowledge, which she understands to be the key to her origin. Derrida is interested in deconstructing origins. His idea of the "always-already" suggests that origins, while meant to be an end- point, signify yet another deferral.
Tihelo's differance is contingent on her girlhood, but also on her race. By the end of the novel, she understands that she comes from a different "origin," a different mother, than she had thought, but this does not alter her perception of who she is. In fact, upon 240 finding out that her mother is white, Tihelo feels all the more that she is black (186).
Tihelo illustrates the meaninglessness of origin but, much more importantly, the meaninglessness of the racial categorizations that create a sense of origin. Tihelo enacts a critique of essential biology and belonging as she continues to identify with her black community. By the end of the novel she has uncovered her "secret" only to find that this does not affect her perception of her self. Obsessing over her colour was a reproduction of apartheid's obsession. When Tihelo learns of her racial categorization, but dismisses it as unimportant, she finally defies apartheid's logic, its "white mythology."175
The character who exemplifies the secret of Tihelo's origin is Mma Kleintjie.
This woman is identified as "Coloured"176 (one can tell because of her lighter skin, green eyes, and Afrikaans name) but she lives in Tihelo's black township. One of the earliest symbols of racial-crossing in Tihelo's life, Tihelo wonders how Mma Kleintjie came to live in a black township, knowing that a "Coloured" area had more amenities and privileges. Tihelo calls this a "mystery," (10) and connects it to the rumours from neighbourhood children that Mma Kleintjie must be a witch (10). Even more compelling in terms of the mystery and secret of Mma Kleintjie is the fact that her mother has forbidden Tihelo from speaking to her (11). Tihelo is curious about this strange woman,
175 Robert Young's White Mythologies takes up the Derridean call to critique the Western philosophical tradition's treatment of "History," which sets up the "third-world" in opposition to the West. Highlighting how places like South Africa are the difterance of historiography and philosophy, Young's argument provides interesting parallels with Molope's novel. 76 The classification "Coloured" itself raises interesting questions about racial classification. Although the thinking behind apartheid was, literally, black and white, the administrators had to account for those of mixed parentage or indigenous status that was not European in origin, but was also not "Bantu." Being "Coloured" granted certain privileges, but also retained a separation, and the superiority, of whiteness. The apparent salience of the category obfuscates the very obscurity of race that comprises it: naming "Coloured" as an origin is to deny its mixedness. These are some of the contradictions that informed apartheid that Molope's novel seeks to deconstruct. 241 and the woman is clearly curious about Tihelo: she watches her, warns her of danger and, ultimately, reveals the secret of Tihelo's birth. Mma Kleintjie and Tihelo share a connection as they are both "Coloured" in a black township. Their relationship signifies how the politics of longing and belonging are sometimes enacted through race.
The novel illustrates the absurdity of racial classification. Molope says that the reason for the subtext of Tihelo's colour is that apartheid was "trying to enforce this idea that there was such a thing as purity of race" but "you couldn't find a more mixed group of people" than South Africans (Handlarski interview). She recalls living in the townships in which the races were supposed to be fully segregated, but noting that there were always exceptions, either from people who refused to participate in segregation, or people who were passing. Tihelo's secret illustrates the prevalence of secrecy around passing in apartheid South Africa. Molope recalls that, while everyone knew someone was different, no one spoke about it. This was in part because of the shame associated with racial crossing, but also to protect the community member from the reprisals of the apartheid state. Kerry Ann Rocquemore suggests that "racial passing has a particular hold on our collective imagination because we assume that individuals belong to one, and only one, biologically defined racial group. This assumption disallows the possibility of being
'mixed-race' and has historically necessitated elaborate rules and regulations in order to classify what folks really are" (17). Passing in South Africa was a way to subvert apartheid's systems of classification and the juridical obsession with them.
Mma Kleintjie is not passing: everyone knows about her classification and she does not attempt to hide it. However the way in which Tihelo is raised is a form of 242 passing; her mother does not want her to feel like less a part of her family and so she hides Tihelo's origin from her. Passing is about the politics of belonging. While Tihelo's mother tries to make her feel more included in the family, Tihelo's awareness of her difference always makes her feel marginal. Just as passing serves to reinforce or challenge the salience of the categories of race (depending on one's point of view),
Tihelo's upbringing both reinforces and obscures her difference. Race as a category of difference has been well-theorized. 177 The novel does not create the connection between
Tihelo and Mma Kleintjie to suggest that people of the same race belong together.
Rather, their connection serves to demonstrate that apartheid's attempt at separating people according to race relied on a belief in origins that was "always-already" doomed to fail. The novel sets up a secret to be revealed which, in a coming-of-age novel, one might expect to change the character significantly. Tihelo, however, remains more firmly entrenched in her black community, and in the black resistance, than before she learns the secret of her identity. Tihelo thought race mattered, but learns by the end that this was part of her naivety. Even before Mma Kleintjie reveals her secret, Tihelo realizes that "I was not as obsessive about my light skin as I had been in previous years [....] I needed my family more and more, and we were now three adults in the house [...]" (114). The contradiction here is that, as Tihelo begins to dismiss her own racial categorization as unimportant, it strengthens her resolve in the anti-apartheid movement. The novel suggests that it is not one's biology that causes racial identification but the socio-political
177 See for example Henry Louis Gates Jr.'s "Writing 'Race' and the Difference it Makes." 243 circumstances that give meaning to biology; once Tihelo finds out that she is
"Coloured" she begins to act and feel more "black" by heightening her revolutionary work.
It is for this reason that I name Tihelo's activity as "passing." Just as when people pass in order to access the privileges of a group with higher-status, Tihelo rejects the racial classifications that inform her society and aligns herself according to her desires.
Liora Moriel writes that "the critical mechanism in passing is choice. True, some people pass inadvertently, but once they become cognizant of their passing, they may choose either to continue passing or to stop the process" (199). Tihelo continues to live as a black member of SASO; she ultimately shows that she belongs with her family and community, not because she shares their race, but because she shares their concerns.
Tihelo is passing because "passing is less about faking prefabbed social identities than it is about demanding appreciation of the idea that all identities are processual, intersubjective, and contested/contestable" (Jackson and Jones 14). Through her very identity she enacts a resistance to apartheid.
Passing is another means by which Tihelo is the "rhizomatic girl." Sanchez and
Schlossberg articulate how "passing becomes a highly charted site of anxieties regarding visibility, invisibility, classification and social demarcation. It disrupts the logic and conceits around which identity categories are established and maintained" (1). Tihelo negotiates between the visibility of her differance, her colour, and the invisibility of her work in the movement. She is part of an "underground" resistance that conceals her and her work. She strives to be invisible and passing is one more incarnation of how she is 244 deterritorialized and "in flight." For Tihelo, this is part of her resistance. She illustrates the view of Sanchez and Schlossberg that "the passing subject's ability to transcend or abandon his or her 'authentic' identity calls into question the very notion of authenticity itself. Passing, it seems, threatens to call attention to the performative and contingent nature of all seemingly 'natural' or 'obvious' identities" (2).178 Molope claims that no country has gone to such extremes to reify the "seemingly natural and obvious" categories of race as South Africa, and few countries have the degree of mixing that such a diverse population affords. Sanchez and Schlossberg conclude that, because of the challenge to such categorizations that passing poses, it is "passive resistance" (3), and
Tihelo's role as a freedom fighter both illustrates and strengthens this point of view. They also conclude that passing "is both playful and serious" (3), making it an ideal site for the expression of girlhood. Girls, as we have seen, can use play to engage in serious and resistive activity. Both gender and race are constructed categories that rely on prescribed markers. The playful and serious play of passing challenges the ways in which such constructions remain reified. Race is one more layer of potential performance and play that can become a site of resistance.
In South Africa the word "pass" has particular significance. Above I mention the
"pass laws" which marked some of the worst repression in South Africa. These laws were clearly articulated as a way for white authorities to control the movement, and enforce the segregation, of black South Africans. The 1956 women's march was in protest to the
178 For the opposite point of view, that passing is a "betrayal of one's origins" (484) that does not interrogate racial boundaries but rather upholds them (488), see Paul Goetsch's "Passing in South African literature." 245 extension of pass laws for women and so the history of women's resistance in South
Africa is inextricable from the history of the pass laws. Just as Derrida focuses on the double-meanings of particular words to reveal the subversive meaning below the surface,
Tihelo's passing serves as a critique of the logic of separateness that was at the heart of apartheid. To "pass" in South Africa meant to be allowed into a different area, characterized by a different race, usually to engage in exploitative labour relationships.
Conversely, Tihelo "passes" as a form of resistance.
In the American context, narratives of "passing" have historically been tragic. The most famous examples are James Weldon Johnson's An Autobiography of an Ex-Colored
Man and Nella Larsen's Passing. In Johnson's "autobiography" he cites frequent longing, never fully fitting in as "white," and never being able to reintegrate into his own community. Gayle Wald's article entitled "The Satire of Race in James Weldon
Johnson's Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man''' argues that passing cannot be a form of resistance because:
Such an optimistic reading of passing in African-American fiction is tempered, by
two crucial observations. First, although texts such as The Autobiography of an
Ex-Colored Man represent racial passing as transgressive in the etymological
sense of crossing a line, they do not necessarily conclude that such mobility is
therefore subversive of race in and of itself [...] Because the very possibility and
efficacy of passing depend upon the concept of stable and diametrically opposed
racial identities of black and white, the Ex-Colored Man is continually fated to
redraw the color line in the very process of crossing over it. (141) 246 Wald makes a compelling argument, and perhaps is correct in asserting that
Johnson's text is not resistance literature. I am arguing that Dancing in the Dust, however, is. "Colored" in the American context was a derogatory term meaning black.
"Coloured" in South Africa, however, is in itself a racial categorization. Tihelo is not
"Ex-colored", but indeed "re-coloured" through the narrative. The fact that "Coloured" was a plausible categorization in South Africa shows that, even as the state attempted to delineate and enforce rigid categorizations, it had to categorize the mixed, the crossed, the transgressed. The classification that Tihelo enters into, therefore, symbolizes that those colour lines must be continually redrawn.179 As the Ex-Colored Man is "fated to redraw the color line in the very process of crossing over it," the fact of the redrawing signifies the fluidity that his narrative supposes and that Wald denies. Johnson chooses a white identity in order to access its social privileges which, Wald argues, "validates the salience of racial categories in mediating all social experience" (141). These are validated in Molope's text as well, but Tihelo does not choose whiteness. Rather, she identifies most strongly with Black Consciousness. Her "Coloured" identity therefore allows her to further subvert the ways in which race "mediates social experience;" she is actively involved in changing the ways in which that mediation occurs in South Africa by blurring racial boundaries even as she fights on the less privileged side. The "Ex-Colored Man" perceived whiteness as his only access to power. For Tihelo, a concept of "black power" becomes a more viable possibility.
179 For a historical overview of the term "Coloured," as well as "Coloured" characters as represented in literature, see February's Mind Your Colour. 247 Nella Larsen's Passing established, at least for an American audience, a sense of both the reasons to pass and some of the pitfalls of doing so. Some of the characters feel - in spite of their greater opportunity, social mobility, and societal acceptance — a sense of longing. In one scene the protagonist Irene, who passes from time to time but who is also entrenched in a black community, discusses passing with her husband Brian, who is a black doctor. Brian believes that passing is a betrayal of one's community and lives his life as though to prove that black people can be successful in their own right, without hiding their racial identity. Brian comments that people who pass rarely stay entrenched in a white community; they always long for home: '"they always come back.
I've seen it happen time and time again.' 'But why?' Irene wanted to know. 'Why?' "If I knew that, I'd know what race is'" (51). Indeed, passing does cause us to ask exactly what race is. In Passing, the act of passing is met with terrible consequences,180 and as a result the novel seems to suggest that one's race is a sort of determinism; it is inescapable. The theme of passing in Dancing in the Dust, however, shows the opposite.
Irene flirts with whiteness, in order to access greater social mobility, but she is punished.
Tihelo rejects whiteness, despite the possibility for social mobility, but she succeeds.
Tihelo passes as black not out of a desire to improve her personal circumstances, but out of a desire to improve circumstances in a collective sense. This is how she comes to know "what race is" for herself: it is a categorization that allows her to resist.
180 Irene's childhood friend Clare either commits suicide or is pushed out of a window at the end of the novel. The ambiguous ending signals either that she jumps, because her white husband has just learned the truth about her racial identity, or because Irene pushes her due to romantic jealousy. Either way, Passing is often read as a cautionary tale. 248 Earlier in this chapter I describe Tihelo's girlhood play as resistance activity.
The notion of play is connected with the notion of performance. In the early part of the novel Tihelo plays with rocks, a version of "playing house,"181 in which she rehearses motherhood: "Mother rock: This is my house! You can use that kind of language when you have your own house [...] Teenage rock: Mama, lama woman now, I can do whatever I want [...]" (23). This play is how Tihelo bridges her identity as a girl and as a woman. Girlhood is a performative time as the license to play allows for experimentation with different identities. Tihelo sometimes engages in a similar type of performativity, but in a much more dangerous context. After a rally at which members of the student movement get shot by police Tihelo takes refuge in a stranger's house. Tihelo must camouflage herself from the police, who are searching for student resisters, and so the woman whose house she hides in gives her a sophisticated dress, high heels, and a wig
(136). The play of girlhood, in which a girl might play "dress-up," becomes a much more serious enterprise in this scene. Tihelo rushes to the SASO office to save some speeches, pamphlets, and other important materials. Knowing that carrying a student's backpack while wearing heels and the wig would look incongruous she puts whatever she can fit into shopping bags and makes her way home. Her "plan was that if anyone asked where I was going after dark then I would tell them I was going home to my children. I only hoped that I looked old enough to pass for a very mature teenage mother" (139). Unlike
181 See Singer and Singer's House of Make-Believe for a psychological perspective of play and gender development. "Playing house," in particular, is cited on pages 223 - 224. 249 other instances in which girls might perform womanhood, Tihelo's names her performance as an act of passing, and uses it towards her resistance work.
Passing concerns gender, race, and sexuality. Tihelo's performance as a "mature teenage mother" to evade police signals that certain "types" of women do not appear to be resisters. The scene evokes images of Keitumetse's pregnancy; the fact that so many teenage mothers occupy the townships — and that these women appear harmless to police
-- signals that the politics that inform pregnancy, familial relations, and class for black women coalesce to disempower them. Tihelo's act of "passing" in this scene challenges the apartheid state's reliance on such "personal" circumstances to de-politicize black women. Passing is therefore a useful concept that unites gender, race, and sexuality.
People cross the boundaries between gay/straight, black/white, female/male and, in this case, girl/woman in order to access greater social currency and mobility. While generally people only pass in one category at a time (e.g. man to woman), these "trans" identities all express challenges to constructed and fixed identities. Passing is a political enterprise which uses performativity to undercut these social boundaries (Nyong'o 74).
The most important theory of performativity comes from Judith Butler, who argues that gender is a set of mimetic, stylized acts (GT 57). These acts are learned, and practiced, in girlhood in order to allow girls to grow into a womanhood that meets societal expectations. Butler applies her theories of gender performativity to Nella
Larsen's Passing, which she calls a "psychoanalytic challenge," because Larsen's presentation of passing "queers" the boundaries of race, gender, and sexuality. Butler argues that Clare uses performativity ~ mainly of race while she passes, but of gender 250 and sexuality as well ~ to resist "the symbolic ordering of gender, sexuality and race"
(433). Butler notes how Clare's ambiguous, and very powerful, sexuality is an integral part of her passing. Clare uses the very apparatus by which societal boundaries and expectations are learned and enforced (performativity) in order to resist them. Drawing on Butler, I would argue that Tihelo is also a character who "queers" societal boundaries.
Her performativity of race, gender, and sexuality all cross seemingly discrete lines and categories. Particularly in the context of apartheid, in which laws governed and guarded those boundaries vigilantly, Tihelo's resistance through play and performativity is both a literal and a symbolic challenge to the state. Her crossings and queerings are part of how she performs not only her various identities, but resistance itself. Tihelo's play, understood in a Derridean sense, is tied to the Deleuzean idea that girlhood is rhizomatic.
In terms of the "Anti-Oedipus" mentality of Deleuze and Guattari, Tihelo's performances that cross the boundaries of race, gender, and sexuality are precisely how she enacts her rhizomatic and schizo selfhood. She is "in flight" because she is willing to change, adapt, and construct new selves as demanded by her context. Tihelo's play, performance, and passing, are how she becomes a re/sister.
Girlhood and Re/sistering
The term re/sister connotes both resistance activity and a desire to reach out to 189 other women. Tihelo's re/sistering arises out of her girlhood. She is the rhizomatic girl;
182 This is another significant difference between Dancing in the Dust and Passing. In Larsen's text, there is a fascinating scene in which the women collude in order to evade the hierarchies of race; they support one another's passing. In the same scene, however, they are clearly participating in hierarchized gender relations by upholding problematic heterosexual unions. These unions supersede the female solidarity. The novel's preoccupation with racial hierarchy leaves the hierarchies implicit in gender roles relatively 251 she is able to transgress the boundaries and expectations of age, race, and gender.
Importantly, her "lines of flight" are partly comprised through her connections with other women. To conclude this chapter, I consider how Tihelo's role as a girl-fighter is an incarnation of re/sistering.183 Tihelo's re/sistering appears through her relationship with
Dikeledi, the comrade who inspires and supports her in the struggle. Her re/sistering across race is illustrated by the relationship she forges with her white mother. The secret
Mma Kleintjie reveals to Tihelo is that she is the product of a romantic union between a black man named Setshiro, and a white woman named Diana. Mma Kleintjie recalls how
Setshiro was hired to be a gardener at Diana's family home. She was a teenager and he was older, he was black and she was white, but in spite of these divisions they fell in love. When her parents discovered she was pregnant they had him imprisoned for "rape" and forced her to give up her child. Diana was not able to stop her parents but she chose to resist by ending contact with them and moving to Canada. After Mma Kleintjie's revelation, Tihelo realizes that the woman she has always known as her mother is really her aunt, the sister of the imprisoned Setshiro, who wanted to raise Tihelo as her own
(178). This powerful act of a sister ultimately engenders further sisterly activity.
unchallenged. In Molope's novel, Tihelo (whether or not she is read as a lesbian) is too young to make any sexual relationship primary to her world view. As a result, she is able to form networks comprised of women. From her family to her comrades Tihelo is what Larsen's Clare or Irene cannot be: a girl who is able to challenge racial classification without perpetuating gender divisions. She is a re/sister. 183 Molope's second novel, The Mending Season, also addresses reconciliation and re/sistering. Set in the period in-between apartheid and freedom, the interregnum, this novel also centres on girlhood and change. In that time of the "mending season," it is not only racial prejudice that is healed, but also the gender-based assumptions and discriminations that preoccupy that novel as well as Dancing in the Dust. As a happy epilogue to Tihelo's story and to this chapter as well, Tihelo's character reappears in The Mending Season, as a journalist for "The Sowetan;" she continues to make change around her, but she also serves as a role model for the next generation of girls. 252 The novel ends with Tihelo writing Diana a letter, which I suggest is an act of re/sistering. Tihelo establishes the letter as a point of contact, "I thought I would write you a letter telling you a little bit about myself in the hope that you will someday write and tell me a little about yourself' (187). Through the letter she draws connections between Diana and herself. She discusses her role in her sister's abortion, citing Diana's own experience as an example of how "where we live a young woman's life cannot really go on as she wishes after she has had a child" (187). She also draws connections between her own resistance activity and the life she imagines Diana lives in Canada: "Do people have passes in Canada? I read that there are people called natives, the way we are also called here, and I also know that they live in places called reservations that are separate from the White people. What are the reservations like? Are they like townships? Have you ever been to a township? Because if you have, I'm sure you have made the comparison" (188). As a white woman, Diana was never the target of apartheid oppression. The cost for her was great nonetheless. Her character serves as a reminder that racial divisions have detracted from the well-being of all, black and white (although, of course, to varying degrees).
In drawing comparisons between her life and Diana's, Tihelo is articulating that the struggles for women differ but also mirror one another. Molope was born and raised in South Africa but now lives in Canada. As a woman bridging the gap between South
Africa and Canada, Molope uses her novel to highlight the similarities between the two environments. Her life in Canada, though distant from the struggles of South Africa, makes her all the more resolved to improve the lives of girls in the country she still calls 253 home. She writes because she wants African girls to read about other African girls becoming successful and strong.184 Though radically different in many ways, First
Nations in Canada and black Africans in South Africa share having been segregated onto land that is not valuable - a move that signals their social devaluing. When Tihelo draws parallels between the two environments it is an act of re/sistering. She notes that she is a freedom fighter, who is "just trying to be listened to, that's all," but she also gestures that her own struggles may be mirrored in transnational environments. In inscribing the connection these women may find, in spite of the circumstances which have divided them, Molope is able to conclude her novel with a sense of hope. There can never be sameness between Diana and Tihelo, but there can be conversation. Tihelo's letter concludes the novel, and thus Molope's last words are given to a girl reaching out to a woman. Tihelo is imagining herself into her future while situating herself in the present:
"Tihelo Massimo, Revolutionary." The connection between them signals that the
"revolutionary" work continues and is not limited by location. It is a line-of-flight. It is slippery. It is on-going. Elsewhere I have named Tihelo's re/sistering in this scene as
"glocal" feminism.185 The next chapter delves into transnational feminism, and the local/global, in greater depth.
184 The above information is imparted whenever Molope is interviewed, but I cite my own interview with her in particular. 185 My conference paper "Feminisms and the Glocal" focuses on Dancing in the Dust. 254 Chapter Four
Cosmopolitanism and Resistance: Kopano Matlwa
"In the globalized world in which we live, events in one corner of the planet can have an immense effect upon the fortunes of others far away and not at all involved in those events. [...] This state of affairs should remind us that as we affect the fate of one another, we also have a common responsibility in the world. [...]
Together, we all live in a global neighborhood and [...] we need a globalization of responsibility as well"
(Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom 34 - 5).
In Kopano Matlwa's Coconut there is a preoccupation with waiting. Several characters state that they are "tired of waiting" (158,181) and that they want their freedom to come "now" (181). The concept of "now" in the novel is, however, contradictory. Some characters disavow the memory of apartheid, feeling it is time to move on. They claim "that was then, this is now" (152), meaning things have changed and it is time to let go of the past. Others, enraged by how little has changed in their lives after the promise of "freedom," vow to remind those who cling to racism "that it is now, and not then" (29). This position underscores that it is impossible to let go of the memory of apartheid because the social conditions it produced are ongoing. The idea of the "now" is therefore paradoxical. It signals both change and stagnancy; it signals the present, but also the presence of the past; it encapsulates the tension in South Africa between memorializing and disavowing apartheid.186 For many South Africans, the promise of the
186 South Africans are known for their unique use of the word "now." Once I was told by a South African friend to get ready because "we are leaving now." When I went to stand near the door, she clarified: "when a South African says 'now' we mean 'in a bit'." There is a kitschy clock that tourists can buy in South Africa on which the hands point to "now," "just now," "now now," or "later." The concept that "now" can mean "later" for South Africans is part of the relaxed nature of the culture. It also, however, signifies a dangerous deferral of expectations that can only lead to social unrest. 255 end of their poverty and oppression under apartheid has been deferred and delayed.
"Now" has become "later," and many are "tired of waiting."
This dissertation focuses on South African literature and has drawn on a variety of postcolonial theories in order to make claims about how resistance literature functions in postcolonial societies, and in South Africa in particular. This chapter interrogates what is happening "now" in South Africa. Twenty years after the end of apartheid the country continues to struggle to rebuild. Its position as post-apartheid, and therefore postcolonial, is being informed by changes within the country as well as by global economics and politics. In South Africa and elsewhere, the notion of the postcolonial, fraught since its inception, is being continually affected by globalization. While imperialism has always been a globalizing force the ways in which countries are connected through a global market, and resulting global social institutions, change the relationship between north/south, occident/orient, east/west, and colonizer/colonized. This chapter, both a continuation and culmination of some of the forms of resistance and the theoretical modes that inform them throughout this dissertation, argues that contemporary resistance literature is cosmopolitan. It demands an ethic of social togetherness that tears down boundaries between peoples, groups, cultures, and fosters unity "now," when it seems that so much, yet so little, has changed.
Kwame Anthony Appiah's idea of cosmopolitanism, a theory that encompasses postcolonial concepts such as hybridity, language, nation, and race, highlights how resistance is changing as a response to increasing interconnectedness. Globalization is an economic or political process, including the local/global (sometimes referred to as the 256 "glocal"), which situates a local context such as South Africa within globalization and its processes. Rather than a rehearsal of the problems of globalization as they affect South
Africa this chapter investigates how these processes can be usurped and used for change by globalizing networks, how resistance can be internationalized, and how such goals enact a resistive cosmopolitanism. The Oxford English Dictionary defines the term
"cosmopolitan" as "a citizen of the world," and a "cosmopolite" as oppositional to
"patriot." The blurring of borders and nations by globalized politics and economics presents both crisis and opportunity. While many critics focus on globalization as a defining force in the postcolony,187 Appiah prefers cosmopolitanism because it is less business-minded, and focuses instead on globalized social forces rather than strictly globalized economics (Cosmopolitan xiii). Cosmopolitanism turns globalization into a question of "how to be a citizen of the world" (Cosmopolitan xv). The theory of cosmopolitanism is a theory of living together and of how to build bridges across seemingly disparate communities. Thus it dovetails with this dissertation's discussion of re/sistering. The concept "re/sister" is a cosmopolitan concept, and the literature that figures it forth is resistance literature for a global and "glocal" era.
Coconut demonstrates how cosmopolitan literature is an incarnation of the literature of resisting and re/sistering. While many of the novels studied in this dissertation have been about apartheid, or its immediate aftermath, Coconut shifts focus to a South Africa that has undergone change. This novel captures the post-apartheid condition of the "coconut" - someone who is black on the outside but considered to be
187 For example, see Appadurai (2001); Dirlik (2007). 257 "white" on the inside due to the privileges they enjoy and the persona they project.
The "coconut" is a cosmopolitan and global construct, made possible by globalization's economic interventions into local economies, and the ways in which race (and gender) politics have shifted as a result. The "coconut" represents both transcendence and oppression: she has overcome barriers and achieved certain markers of success but she has also perhaps internalized racist stereotypes and performed them in order to achieve that success. This negative view can be challenged by reading Coconut through the lens of Appiah's cosmopolitanism which highlights how the "coconut" is a figure for melange and transformation. She represents a bridging between cultures and perspectives and thus promotes dialogue and mutual respect. The "coconut" as a cosmopolitan figure is an example of how literature can resist in the globalized era.
Cosmopolitan Hvbriditv
A "coconut" is a hybrid; to be "black on the outside but white on the inside" implies adopting characteristics that are typically associated with both. Not all "coconuts" adopt the same features, and we will see that different "coconuts" enact hybridity differently. Coconut features two protagonists who are both young women of colour.
Each narrates half of the novel from her own perspective. Ofilwe Tlous, or Fifi for short, represents middle to upper class black South Africans. She and her family live a comfortable life in the suburbs of Johannesburg. They have nice cars, expensive clothes, and every Sunday they eat brunch at the Silver Spoon Cafe. Ofilwe is happy with her life but notes that to succeed in school she is always trying to hide her blackness. She equates whiteness with success and she is saddened by the disappearance of Sepedi - her mother- 258 tongue. Ofilwe is the type of "coconut" who bemoans her perceived loss of culture.
She is proud to be black but her class position necessitates her integration into white society. Ofilwe's narrative is contrasted with that of Fikile. Fikile, or Fiks for short, is
Ofilwe's waitress at the Silver Spoon Cafe. She is also a woman of colour, but she lives without economic privilege in the townships with her abusive uncle. These circumstances make her determined to ascend in both class and social status. Fiks is ambitious, and knows that, to transcend her class, she must aspire to what she has termed "project infinity" (109): whitening creams, expensive clothes, and flirting with wealthy customers who may be able to help her out of poverty. Fiks despises the Africans at her school, on her train to work, and even those who come into the cafe - especially the "nouveau riche"
Tlous family. Fikile is an example of a "coconut" who has internalized the racism of her society. She is not proud to be black. She tries to fully integrate into white society and she rejects any positive association with blackness. Ofilwe and Fikile are both "coconuts" in that they both strive to be seen as white; this is the feature that unites them. What separates these characters is their economic position, thus highlighting that the need to re/sister goes beyond simply race, but also applies to women divided along other social lines.188
The contrast between these two different types of "coconut" demonstrates that hybridity has different incarnations and effects. Most critics who have read Coconut
188 Katrina Bell McDonald's Embracing Sisterhood: Class, Identity and Contemporary Black Women articulates the role class plays in the current divisions between black women (128). McDonald stresses that solidarity across class is more important now, in the globalized era, than ever. 259 understand it to be a condemnation of the loss of African culture and tradition in favour of a "whitening" that leads to success. My early work on the novel argued this viewpoint. In a conference paper, I suggested that Homi Bhabha's work on hybridity as potential resistance does not apply to the novel: "Bhabha sees the 'in-between' as positive, liberating, and dynamic. In Coconut the reverse is true: the characters feel trapped by their in-betweenness and dislocation" (3). Lynda Spencer, author of the first scholarly article on Coconut, agrees. She argues that "Matlwa attempts to demonstrate that the 'in-between' space inhabited by the 'coconut' is not a subversive space of possibility, but a painful and potentially damaging one" (74). I have since changed my view of how hybridity works in Coconut. In order to make the argument that hybridity disempowers the "coconut" one must sideline certain elements of the novel. Coconut certainly provides examples of this painful and damaging hybridity, but it also has subtextual clues that suggest hybridity is the answer to its own problems. While the two protagonists struggle with their "coconut" existences they also encounter others who are able to negotiate the boundaries between race and culture in more healthy and positive ways. Hybridity, in a cosmopolitan environment, can create dislocated confusion, but it also can allow for a liberating crossing of boundaries and roles.
Hybridity has become a key concept in postcolonial and cosmopolitan theory as it pertains to resistance. Bhabha began theorizing the concept, but it has been taken up by
Robert C. Young (1995), Anjali Prabhu (2007), and many others who have debated how 260 hybrid mixings can be the site of both colonial power and resistance.189 Appiah's cosmopolitanism draws on Bhabha's theory of postcolonial hybridity. Bhabha postulates that colonial history produced miscegenation, mimicry, and other forms of cultural appropriation and change. Hybridity therefore encodes and reflects the domination of culture by colonialism, but also the resistances to it. The process of acculturation and assimilation were never complete, and power never went in only one direction. Bhabha's ultimate argument is in favour of hybridity. For him, "cultural translation," or the mixing of cultures, is "how newness enters the world" (303). Bhabha is speaking of postcolonial spaces, but Appiah extends his argument globally. Given the global integration of economies, politics, and environments, and the mixing in all directions of cultures in our contemporary condition, Appiah points out that the hybrid mixings and dynamic power structures Bhabha describes apply worldwide. Cosmopolitanism is a global project.
Appiah is so inspired by Bhabha that he sometimes replicates his very ideas and language: "melange, hotchpotch, a bit of this and a bit of that is how newness enters the world' (my italics) (112). The repetition between Bhabha and Appiah on "newness" in the world highlights how Bhabha's theory of hybridity is crucial to answering Appiah's question of "how to live ethically in a world of strangers" (1).
189 Bhabha's The Location of Culture is the seminal text on hybridity and its transformative effects, but he has been tempered by and revised by other critics. Bhabha has been criticized for glorifying hybridity and ignoring the history of domination that produced it in colonial contexts (Parry "Resistance Theory"). Young does not discount Bhabha's views but cautions that hybridity should not be tied to biological essentialism; it is possible to produce hybridity in ways other than miscegenation. However most critics agree with Bhabha that hybridity can allow colonial and postcolonial subjects agency and means of resistance. The "coconut" is an interesting model for hybridity; s/he is not biologically hybrid, but rather has adopted and internalized "white" cultural norms. This may appear to be a dangerous type of internalization of the value of whiteness, but it also has the potential to produce the type of resistance that Bhabha's theory of hybridity puts forth. 261 Cosmopolitan environments change the way people read racial markers.
Blackness becomes more about social behaviour and attitude than skin colour. While the replacement of biological stereotypes by new, social ones is not necessarily progress, it does suggest that hybridity can foster not just an internalization of racism, but a subversion of it as well. In Coconut, both Ofilwe and Fikile long to be white. When asked in school what she wants to be when she grows up, Fikile replies "White, Teacher Zola, I want to be white" (135). When the teacher asks why, she answers "because it's better"
(136) and when he asks "what makes you think that, Fikile?" she answers "everything"
(136). From a young age Fiks has seen that whiteness means social power. Fikile therefore aspires to whiteness but she is told that her race is deterministic and fixed. A classmate chides her: "You so stupid, Fikile, don't you know you going to be black as dirt for the rest of your life!" (135). Fikile is told that biology is destiny. For Ofilwe the difference between black and white is not as clearly marked. She sees black people with the type of privilege for which Fikile longs, but she knows their blackness is a liability.
She imagines that people are imploring her with their eyes '"Stop acting black!' 'Stop acting black!"' (31), and so she has learned that she and her family "may not be black in restaurants, in suburbs and in schools. Oh, how it nauseates them if we even fantasise
[sic] about being black, truly black. The old rules remain and the old sentiments are unchanged" (31 - 32). While Ofilwe has clearly de-essentialized race from social status and performance, the equation of being black with being loud, uncouth, and disorderly is a reinforcement of essentialist stereotypes. This is the fine line that the "coconut" must walk. Race is continually designated as biological determinism but, paradoxically, also 262 social performance. Being told not to "act" black underscores that race is a social construction. Once race is extricated from the realm of biology, and placed into codes of social behaviour, it is already undermined as a category that carries legitimacy and force.
Cosmopolitan hybridity moves beyond biology into the social realms that Ofilwe and Fikile experience. Early proponents of hybridity such as Bhabha relied too much on biology in celebrating the "in-between." One example is Bhabha's essentialist treatment of the "Coloured" South African.190 He calls the "Coloured" subject a "halfway house of racial and cultural origins" who "represents a hybridity, a difference 'within' a subject that inhabits the rim of an 'in-between' reality" (19). South African critic and writer Zoe
Wicomb points out that Bhabha's romanticization of the "Coloured" person obfuscates the discrimination and internalized racism they experience. She notes that it is impossible to actually "//ve on the rim of an 'in-between reality'" (101). Wicomb's critique reminds us not to rely too much on biology and origin in order to make claims about hybridity and resistance, which is why some of Bhabha's ideas are even more relevant in post-apartheid
South Africa. The "coconut" is a figure that removes the aspect of biology from hybridity; she is black but she lives like white people do, and therefore she actually does live "in-between" cultures.
Ofilwe's understanding that she should not "act black" also suggests a displacement of racist stereotypes into classist ones. Spencer articulates how this slippage works: "the cultural values of 'whiteness' do not simply refer to race, but rather to an identity that is
190 "Coloured" was a status assigned in apartheid's racial identification scheme. It applied to people of mixed parentage, and also some indigenous groups such as the Griqua. While the term still has currency in South Africa, it is important to acknowledge that it is an apartheid-era designation. 263 associated with economic mobility, a specific cultural capital which is held up as aspirational" (68). Race, in this sense, is something malleable, especially with regard to class. A black person with money is all of a sudden perceived as "white" in certain ways.
Under colonial environments, such as apartheid South Africa, it was rarely possible for black subjects to ascend in class and, even if they could, it would not loosen the racist stereotypes applied to them. Cosmopolitanism has changed the configurations of power enough that if one wishes to escape from their racial designation, origin, or community, one can do so through class ascension. This is why Fikile is determined to become
"white" through "project infinity," her class-based transcendence of the blackness she despises. She is a "coconut" because she truly believes she can stop being black. For
Ofilwe, who is bom into this "coconut" lifestyle, internalized racism is what allows her to blend in. She has, like Fikile, internalized racist stereotypes, but more subliminally. This manifests when she thinks of her future children and realizes she does not perceive them as black: "I imagine lovely round dimpled faces and Colgate smiles running past sticky walls. In my dreams they are painted in shades of pink. I am afraid of what that means"
(19). The "pink" children are a projection of her own internalized "whiteness," and although Ofilwe is "afraid" and saddened by this disconnect in her identity, she feels powerless to change it. As a result of their "coconut" aspirations and lifestyles, both of these characters have "black skin, white masks" (Fanon 1967).
Frantz Fanon's theory has particular applications in these new cosmopolitan spaces in which class blurs the boundaries of race. Fanon describes how the "inferiority complex" of the black subject is "primarily economic," which Matlwa illustrates through the 264 specific interweaving of class and "coconut" consciousness. Fanon explains that this economic inferiority leads to "the internalization- or, better, the epidermalization- of this inferiority" (11). Fikile literally tries to whiten her skin with creams; Ofilwe simply envisions the transformation mentally and projects it onto her "pink" children. Both highlight Fanon's point that "for the black man there is only one destiny. And it is white"
(10).191 The application of this "epidermalization" is clear in Coconut. However, the destabilization of race due to class has recuperative potential. "Coconuts" can cross boundaries, which makes them able to subvert the structures that impose those boundaries in the first place.
For Fanon, the internalization and epidermalization of racism is pathology (143) but Bhabha transforms Fanon by adding an element of agency to his theory. Bhabha sees libratory potential in the idea of the "white mask" precisely because it signals areas in which slippages, crossings, and subversions can occur. An example is Hegel's "master- slave dialectic"192 which recognizes that, while the master maintains ultimate power, he depends on the slave to define his position. If there is no master without slave each depends on the other. Fanon sees this view as irresponsible because it removes the violence from the colonial context; the master's ownership of the slave remains unquestioned. Bhabha, on the other hand, argues that the mutual recognition of the master and slave in Hegel's view can be used by the colonial subject in order to resist. This
191 Fanon really does mean the black "man" - his work is notoriously sexist. However his ideas about internalized and "epidermalized" racism do apply to the female characters in Coconut. For an excellent deconstruction of Fanon's sexism, and how Bhabha as he draws on Fanon replicates it, see Fludernik (70 - 73). 192 In The Phenomenology of Spirit. 265 happens either through mimicry (122), in which the subject performs his subjugation but with slippages that reveal his inherent power, or it happens through an occupation of the "in-between" space that marginality affords: "This is the historical movement of hybridity as camouflage, as a contesting, antagonistic agency functioning in the time-lag of sign/symbol, which is a space in-between the rules of engagement" (277). Being "in- between" the rules because one is "in-between" stereotypical identities is how subjects discover and enact their power.
Both Ofilwe and Fikile are "in-between" characters whose status as "coconuts" challenges the essentialism of race. They both learn that their hybridity can be powerful and subversive of the racism with which they have grown up. Matlwa's depiction of this hybridizing subversion is never romantic ~ both women experience hardship — but to realize only the difficulties and none of the successes is to miss the hopeful potential inherent in the novel's depiction. Ofilwe grows up in the "Little Valley Country Estate," a primarily white Johannesburg suburb.193 She remembers the salesperson telling her father about their house's "Tuscan architectural style" (75), a common feature of South
African suburban homes, which Spencer argues is a "fa9ade of Europeanness over the
South African landscape" (73). The "mask" that even the homes wear, pretending to be
"European," is a sign of South Africa's nationally internalized racism. It is also, however, a sign of cosmopolitan change. The houses cannot be extricated from the South African land on which they sit. Living in a formerly white area presents challenges, but the Tlous'
193 While cosmopolitanism is usually an urban phenomenon, the high rates of crime in South Africa mean that the height of cosmopolitan living is in the suburbs. This anomaly brings up how some of the issues of cosmopolitan geography are necessarily local. 266 occupation of these homes indicates that the power politics equating blackness with poverty have decisively changed: "Ofilwe's is the first generation that can say it has a distinct class of truly rich, professional black people who have been thrust into the highest echelons of privilege in South Africa's suburbia" (Van Gend 18). The hybridity exemplified and experienced by the Tlous family provides Fanonian challenges, but it also can be recuperated through Bhabha's sense of a subversive "in-between."
Little Valley Country Estate becomes the site for a cosmopolitan meshing of tradition and modernity. As a celebration "Koko," Ofilwe's maternal grandmother who is much more traditional than the rest of the family, suggests they host a traditional thanksgiving ceremony at which a cow be sacrificed. The scene provides an example of the backlash against those who "act black" in formerly "white" spaces. Slaughtering a cow violates some of the by-laws of the Little Valley Country Estate and therefore the ceremony is shut down by neighbourhood security (73 - 74). The by-laws state
"Residents of Little Valley Country Estate may not keep any wild animals, livestock, poultry, reptiles or aviaries or any other animals of the sort on the Estate grounds" (73).
The language of a legalistic by-law, embedded in the fictional narrative, produces a distancing effect. The dispassionate language reduces the complexities of cultural mixing and hybridity to a simplistic issue of decorum. Koko feels unwelcome in the neighbourhood as a result, and the family berates her for pursuing her "witchcraft" and embarrassing them in front of the community (74). Through this scene, Matlwa highlights the cosmopolitan tensions between tradition and modernity. Ofilwe's family has achieved a level of integration and financial success that would not have been impossible under 267 apartheid. In order to achieve this, however, the family members have lost their connection with traditional culture and have become "coconuts." The portrayal of the conflict between cultures, and between tradition and modernity, signals that, while cosmopolitan living is not easy, neither is it avoidable. The answer is neither to go back to separation along ethnic lines for the comfort of traditional practitioners, nor to fully assimilate. The only possible way of achieving cosmopolitanism in an ethical way is to hybridize. There must be space for both the traditional and the modern, for the secular and the religious, for all cultures to merge in a central space.
The incident with Koko encapsulates the backlash and criticisms people make of
"coconuts" due to their perceived betrayal of their origins. Spencer's definition of the
"coconut" centralizes this idea: "coconuttiness [...] occurs when one betrays one's
African culture by gravitating towards the social expectations of a hegemonic westernized culture" (68). The scene with the Little Valley Country Estate, if understood in Fanonian terms, is very bleak: the people, the houses, the lifestyle all don "white masks." However when understood through Bhabha, the idea of betraying one's racial and ethnic origins becomes more suspect. Precisely because origin and authenticity are extricated from racial identity, the hybrid figure can oscillate between traditional and modern. If there is no "authentic" way of being black, Pedi, or any other ethnicity, then there is no need to worry about "betraying one's origins." The very idea of "betrayal" nefariously replicates apartheid's ideology of racial determinism. Rather than betraying origins, a slippery proposition, the coconut hybridizes. She can learn to blend the traditional, such as the ceremonies that Koko enjoys, and the modern existence her 268 suburb demands. The novel suggests this hybridizing is taking place and perhaps is the answer to the "coconut" conflict of cultures. Although Ofilwe has moments in which she regrets her difference from her neighbours her narrative reminds us that the suburbs have changed dramatically since the end of apartheid. Ofilwe contrasts "the smell of sauteed prawns and ricotta stuffed pasta with mushroom sauce that wafts into the garden" with "the sharp smell of mala le mogodu" (75) coming from her own home.194 The
Tlouses are black in a formerly white space, they bring their familiar food and customs with them and, although they are resisted at times, their very existence resists the assimilationist ethos of their suburb. They are re-Africanizing a formerly white space but without adhering to an anachronistic view of origin or authenticity. They are hybrid figures; to the same degree that their European homes modify their African traditions, they Africanize the "Tuscan-style architecture."
Ofilwe's suburban lifestyle presents the opportunity for a hybridizing of environments made possible by cosmopolitanism, and Fikile's life in the townships does so as well. The contrast between the two areas proves that one cannot romanticize the
"authentic" black neighbourhoods just as much as one cannot discount the problems in the formerly white-only ones. Fikile declares repeatedly that she dislikes black people, and she wishes she could belong to a white community: "Black people! Why must they always be so damn destructive? [...] Have you ever seen a white suburb looking so despicable? In some townships it is difficult to differentiate the yards from the garbage
194 Usually called "mala mogodu," this is a dish similar to tripe, usually stewed and served with traditional "pap" (corn meal). 269 heaps. It really is a disgrace" (134- 135). Ironically, living in the predominantly white area allows Ofilwe to reconnect with her traditional culture because she longs for a sense of belonging, whereas Fikile's experience of living in the townships causes her to disavow black community altogether.
For Fikile the transformation from internalized racism to positive cosmopolitan hybridity is not completed in the space of the novel. She has internalized/epidermalized racism to the point that to have her completely renounce her position would be inauthentic. Matlwa does provide room, however, for Fikile to challenge her own assumptions in the novel which suggests the possibility for a cosmopolitan "in-between" hybridity. Fikile's assumptions of blackness are challenged by a man she meets on the train. She dislikes him immediately because she sees his expensive briefcase engraved with the Anglo-sounding name of "K.J. Fishwick" and therefore assumes he is a thief.
Fikile dismisses him in much the same manner as she dismisses all the black people around her (132). Later Fikile meets the same man and he explains that, upon realizing it was his birthday, his boss immediately emptied his own designer briefcase and gave it to him (187). Having her assumptions challenged in this way gives pause to other race- based assumptions she makes. Fikile's perspective does not completely shift in this scene, but this confrontation gestures in the direction of a cosmopolitan hybridity. "Fishwick" has the privilege she desires, but he is happy living in the township she despises. His oscillation between identities is reflected in the train travel that provides the setting for their encounters. 270 James Clifford's Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late-Twentieth
Century articulates the connection between "roots and routes." This text is compatible with Appiah's Cosmopolitanism as both trace the ways in which movement both connects and divides people and peoples. In Routes, Clifford describes travel in cosmopolitan terms, as the means by which people come to hybridize their identities. An example is of a young Puerto Rican taking the train in and out of Harlem, the journey itself marking the transition between the community of his origins to the mixed and cosmopolitan setting of
New York. Clifford describes the experience as the young man finding "his freedom, his city. Routes and roots" (97). Fikile's train travel, also a journey from a more monocultural "home" to a more mixed area, provides the setting for her to negotiate her own "routes and roots." The man on the train models for her how one can live in the townships and still have the kind of privilege she associates with white communities. His hybridity is an antidote to the "coconut" aspirations that Fikile assumes can only be realized through a disavowal of where she comes from. As these characters travel and engage with each other, various versions of hybridity and in-betweenness emerge.
Coconut presents the problems of hybridity ~ assimilation and a loss of tradition -
- but it also shows how hybridizing European culture in South Africa is resistive. Hybrid cosmopolitanism is both problematic and ameliorative. It is, in this way, hybrid in and of itself. As this chapter continues to assert how resistance literature for the twenty-first century will necessarily be cosmopolitan, the discussion of hybridity is crucial because it demonstrates how power relations can shift as the melange that both Bhabha and Appiah describe brings "newness to the world." One of the most effective ways for this to happen 271 is through language - the very medium through which resistance literature is able to reflect and create hybrid and cosmopolitan identities.
Hvbriditv and Language: Cosmopolitan Creolization
One of the main reasons cosmopolitanism is especially fitting for South African resistance literature is the linguistic fusion in the country. Recent South African literature must contend with the country's diversity of languages and the hybridities they create.195
In a cosmopolitan world, linguistic mixing is habitual. Languages augment and transform one another as people travel and integrate, and the ways in which language encodes everyday life and power structures shift along with those augmentations. In terms of hybridity, Bhabha notes that it is impossible to "go back" to a time when discrete categories of languages reflected distinct communities of people, if such a time ever existed. There is no "going" back, but one can "look back" in order to "move forward"
(xi). He calls this "vernacular cosmopolitanism," where language and cultural mixing become part of the resistance of the in-between: "The vernacular cosmopolitan takes the view that the commitment to a 'right to difference in equality' as a process of constituting emergent groups and affiliations has less to do with the affirmation or authentication of origins and 'identities,' and more to do with political practices and ethical choices"
195 Once the ANC came to power, it recognized eleven official languages in which citizens have the right to access all government services. Although more than eleven languages are spoken in South Africa, this legislation made South Africa unique in terms of recognizing the diversity of languages as part of its official national character. This was a response to the ways in which, under apartheid, issues of language were a major point of conflict, culminating in the Soweto Uprising's response to Afrikaans being made the language of instruction in schools. 272 (xvii).196 These ethical choices are the cosmopolitan choices that Appiah argues are necessary for "living in a world of strangers." In the case of South Africa, the linguistic groups come from competing European colonial powers and a multitude of native ethnic groups. They have not exactly been "strangers" but rather the lines between languages and cultures have been blurred. Bhabha's "vernacular cosmopolitanism" is an incarnation of Appiah's cosmopolitanism; both articulate a need for hybridizing language and culture.
Ofilwe's brother Tshepo is a literary advocate for vernacular cosmopolitanism.
He takes issue with Ofilwe's version of hybridity believing her living in "between worlds" to be a dissatisfying gesture of assimilation. Tshepo says:
You will find, Ofilwe, that the people you strive so hard to be like will one day
reject you because as much as you may pretend, you are not one of their own.
Then you will turn back, but there too you will find no acceptance, for those you
once rejected will no longer recognize the thing you have become. So far, too far
to return. So much, too much you have changed. Stuck between two worlds,
shunned by both. (93)
Tshepo's description of Ofilwe's potential turning back to move forward is reminiscent of Bhabha's Janus-faced view of the vernacular cosmopolitan. One cannot go back, as there is no original or authentic beginning, but neither does that mean one is "stuck
196 The term vernacular implies the language of the quotidian. Language expresses everyday life, but it also constructs it. De Certeau argues that the way to understand the "everyday" is to examine language (Practice 20). 273 between two worlds" as Tshepo warns.197 Tshepo tends towards an idealizing of
African culture, and sometimes risks falling into the trap of authenticity against which
Bhabha writes. Ultimately, however, he exemplifies a preferable version of hybridity in which he uses vernacular cosmopolitanism to resolve the feeling of being "stuck between worlds." He transforms the feeling of being "stuck" into a feeling of agency. He does so through language and literature.
This study on resistance literature has argued, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly, that literature matters. It can affect the way people view themselves and their world, it can encode struggles as they occur, and it can motivate change on an individual and social level. Coconut illustrates through Tshepo some of these same ideas.
The Tlouses want their son to enter into the business world that has allowed them to ascend in class, but Tshepo wants to pursue a university degree in "African language and literature" (79) so that he can continue to tell the stories and connect with the traditions of his Sepedi language and culture. He is not "going back" to the townships, nor is he rejecting the privilege with which he lives; rather he is negotiating a way to integrate his cultural traditions and language into his present circumstances. This is vernacular cosmopolitanism as Bhabha describes it. It is also what Appiah calls the "cosmopolitan imagination."198
197 The phrase "between two worlds" is reminiscent of Miriam Tlali's Muriel at Metropolitan, a novel about a black woman working for white business-owners under apartheid, which was originally entitled Between Two Worlds. Coconut deals with similar themes but in a post-apartheid context. The idea of the "in-between" is shown in both novels to be both disempowering as well as the route towards agency. 198 See Appiah's chapter "Cosmopolitan Reading," in the collection Cosmopolitan Geographies: New Locations in Literature and Culture. 274 Appiah argues that the imaginative transformation provoked by literature is central to cosmopolitan connectivity: "Conversations across boundaries of identity - whether national, religious, or something else - begin with the sort of imaginative engagement you get when you read a novel [....] And I stress the role of the imagination here because the encounters, properly conducted, are valuable in themselves"
("Cosmopolitan Reading" 85).199 Tshepo wants to use language and literature to strengthen the cosmopolitan interconnections around him. He wants black South Africans to feel proud of their roots, but he also wants white South Africans to recognize the legitimacy of the languages and cultures that have been suppressed in the country.
Tshepo says "I want to speak. I want to say those things that people are afraid to hear.
Those things that they do not want to face. In the pages of a book, in the privacy of their minds, where they feel a little less vulnerable, I will talk to them, long after the book is down, we will converse, my readers and I [...]" (80). Appiah believes, as Tshepo does
that, through the intimacy of reading one another's narratives, the imaginative space for
cosmopolitan connection can take place.
199 The role of imagination is key to a discussion of resistance literature. In the previous chapter I discussed the importance of imagination for girls and girlhood, and how its transgressive potential can be applied towards resistance activities for girls. The imagination increasingly becomes key to transcending the hierarchies produced by global economics, and fostering the creation of cosmopolitan and global coalition. Aijun Appadurai calls use of the imagination "a social practice" which is "now central to all forms of agency, is itself a social fact, and is the key component of a new global order." (Modernity 31) Similarly, Spivak says we must rescue the imagination in "a time and a place that has privatized the imagination and pitted it against the political" (Death of a Discipline 37 - 38). Transnational feminists "imagin[e] a reading practice that can accommodate an identity politics which addresses the eruptions of feminism, race politics, and class struggles into the late-twentieth-century narratives of global capitalism and the legacy of colonial domination" (Richards 34).Cosmopolitanism therefore depends on the imagination and practices of reading: "cosmopolitanism is primarily about viewing one self as part of a world, a circle of belonging that transcends the limited ties of kinship and country to embrace the whole of humanity. However, since one cannot see the universe, the world, or humanity, the cosmopolitan optic is not one of perceptual experience but of the imagination. World literature is an important aspect of cosmopolitanism [...]" (Cheah 26). 275 Tshepo, through his writing and study of literature, is able to negotiate an identity that hybridizes the cultures and languages of which he is comprised. He declares that
Christianity is a "product" that has been sold to Africans, but that he is not in favour of pure "Africanism" either (5). He speaks primarily in English, but finds it important to integrate Sepedi into his speaking and writing as well. Tshepo is even spatially "in- between." When he writes he literally goes to a place he calls "the middle" (82). The floor "in-between" the main floors of the Tlous' home is the place where he can best avoid his mother's critical eye and pursue his writing in peace. In terms of a
"cosmopolitan geography" (Dharwadkar), as a space of the imagination, Tshepo highlights that even in places that appear to be dominated by Western inspiration ~ the architecture of the home, the suburb in which it sits, and the European culture that surrounds it ~ one can carve out a place "in-between" in order to imaginatively configure new spaces for existence that allow the dialogue between cultures to come forth.
The problem for the postcolonial, cosmopolitan subject is how to live productively with a plurality of languages, some of which are tied to a history of colonial violence.
Matlwa's novel at times appears to condemn English as it eclipses the facility people have with their mother tongues. But her approach is not to call for a complete return to pre-colonial language either. The very fact that Matlwa writes the novel in English demonstrates her belief that it is a productive language for postcolonial, post-apartheid
South Africa. Coconut suggests that only through linguistic mixing - through maintaining traditional and colonial languages, and even blending the contexts in which they are used — can "coconuts" thrive. The novel therefore advocates for cosmopolitan 276 vernacularism. Linguistic dominance may be a pitfall of cosmopolitan societies. As with other forms of hybridity, however, cosmopolitan mixing is also the way to recuperate language from domination.
Ofilwe, responding to Tshepo's admonishments, ultimately learns how to hybridize language so that she may be comfortable as a "coconut." Near the beginning of the novel she is concerned about language. She thinks, "do all South Africans think in
English?" (50), noting that hers is the first generation to experience English as a first language amongst black South Africans. She finds it strange that she "will think in
English and Mama will think in Sepedi" (50).200 Ofilwe has learned to associate English with privilege however she comes to understand that, regardless of her mastery of
English, she will continue to face those who will never perceive her to be "English" enough. For example, inspectors come to visit Ofilwe's school to collect census information. Ofilwe puts up her hand when the inspectors ask who speaks English at home but the inspectors do not believe her. Ultimately one inspector says to another "just tick her under 'Zulu', it's all the same" (57). For the government representatives, the world is still divided between black and white, and language is affixed to those designations. Their assumption of the "same"-ness of African languages, along with their assumption that all black students speak one of them at home, highlights that even in
"post-apartheid" South Africa, old attitudes remain. The incident propels Ofilwe to keep
200 Ofilwe's questions resonate with South Africans who, due to their history, are often preoccupied with issues of language. Ofilwe reminds me of an experience I had entering an "English" class in a South African high school. The teacher had a sign on the door that read "the limits of my language are the limits of my mind." The irony of the colonial teaching of "English" (that class was studying British war poetry that day), juxtaposed with a key awareness of how English can be subverted by other languages which extend "the limits of [the] mind," remains for me a precise example of "coconut" cosmopolitanism. 277 a "Sepedi vocabulary list" (69) and to eventually try to speak in a mixture of English and Sepedi. This goal subverts the assumptions of the inspectors, and their expectations that languages and cultures remain divided. Ofilwe intends to blend both English and
Sepedi in order to retain both her tradition and the social power that English has afforded her.
Through Ofilwe and Tshepo, Matlwa leaves open the possibility for a cosmopolitan hybridizing of language. In integrating Sepedi, Ofilwe "is not advocating a return to or a recovery of an essentialized past, but seems to be suggesting that a cultural identity involves drawing on various past and present linguistic and cultural contexts through which identity becomes a continuous, complex, shifting, and flexible sense of defining one's self' (Spencer 75). Spencer concludes, in spite of the hybridity she describes concerning language, that Coconut mourns the loss of language. I take the opposing view that Ofilwe's character demonstrates how the hybridizing of language is now a key component of decolonization. By the end of Ofilwe's section, she is learning
Sepedi, connecting with her heritage, and learning how to reconcile her privilege with her selfhood. She is negotiating the positive potential of the "in-between."
Hybridity has become the key strategy for African writers, like Matlwa, who continue to write in English, but who maintain that this is not a reassertion of colonial violence. Writers like Chinua Achebe assert that in the legacy of colonialism there is no choice but to accept colonial languages as a necessary means for communication but their usurpation by the formerly colonized subjects subverts their power. Languages like
English gave various ethnic groups "a language with which to talk to one another. If it 278 failed to give them a song, it at least gave them a tongue, for sighing" (27). Thus language was a tool of colonial domination but it does not have to remain so. Achebe famously debated this point with Ngugi wa Thiong'o whose Decolonising the Mind: The
Politics of Language in African Literature strongly condemned writing in colonial
j languages. The ambivalence of English encapsulated in the Achebe/Ngugi argument has also become widely debated in South Africa. In Ndebele's "English Language and
Social Change in South Africa" he articulates that "we cannot afford to be uncritically complacent about the role and future of English in South Africa, for there are many reasons why it cannot be considered an innocent language" (11), but also that "South
African English must be open to the possibility of its becoming a new language" (13) as it continues to be augmented by African languages. Hybridization is what ultimately removes the violence of colonial domination from languages and makes them potential tools for resistance literature. Many postcolonial critics make this argument, including
Bill Ashcroft whose "postcolonial transformation" suggests that "mastering the master's language has been a key strategy of self-empowerment in all post-colonial societies"
(58). Ofilwe has already mastered the "master's language," and is now reintroducing
201 Ngugi's view is supported by Chinweizu and Madubuike's Toward the Decolonization of African Literature in which they attack writers such as Wole Soyinka for replicating colonialism through the use of English. Soyinka reprinted their attack in Transition, the journal he then edited, together with a rebuttal entitled "Neo-Tarzanism: The Poetics of Pseudo-Tradition," in which he equated their demands for an "authentic" African literature with "the traditional Hollywood image of the pop-eyed African in the jungle" (38). The debate continues, although Ngugi has conceded that he will once again publish in English: "While Ngugi believed that decolonization could be achieved through the reaffirmation of African languages, it appears after 2000 that addressing the new global empire in a language available to the widest audience, both within and beyond the African continent, now carries more anti-imperial force" (Strehle 124). Even Ngugi agrees that, in a globalized world, vernacular cosmopolitanism can still be an effective strategy. 202This is an example of "the importance of hybridity and syncretism in postcolonial and post-apartheid writing as ways of resisting dominant political and cultural discourses" (Wright 88). 279 Sepedi into her cosmopolitan vernacular. She therefore demonstrates that the acquisition of a colonial language need not be an ultimate goal, but that language acquisition fluctuates as identities do. Power does not work in only one direction, and the hybridity of language reflects its movement.
Coconut's portrayal of language issues is complex. Ofilwe and Tshepo, because they have economic and social privilege, are able to reintegrate Sepedi into their
"cosmopolitan vernacular." Fikile, on the other hand, desperately wants to be perceived as an English speaker because mastering English is the key to creating "her own destiny"
(137). Her fluency is what enables her to speak with clients at the Silver Spoon Cafe, and there she hopes to mingle with the elite enough that she is able to join them. Fikile represents issues of language that still challenge cosmopolitan hybridity and integration.
She highlights how language continues to encode and produce power between races and classes: "My whole life has become about how I speak. [...] People don't realize how much their accent says about who they are, where they were born and most importantly what kind of people they associate with. [...] The accent matters. Don't let some fool convince you otherwise" (154). The accent in South Africa, as in many places globally, is a marker of class. Fikile's narrative does not preclude cosmopolitanism or hybridity, but it highlights that these processes are not simple, and that issues like class continue to structure racial integration.
Matlwa complicates Fikile's point of view through the dialogue she has with
"Fishwick." He tells Fikile that he is concerned about his daughter Palesa's schooling, despite its benefits. His daughter attends a multicultural school where cosmopolitan 280 ideals flourish. Children of mixed races play and learn together, and race — for the first time in South Africa — appears not to be a barrier. However he worries that Palesa
"refuses to speak a word of Xhosa" because of "the influence of that school" (188).
Despite the "endless opportunities" (189) the school provides, the black children who attend "become less of what Africa dreamed of and more of what Europe thought we ought to be" (189). This encapsulates the clashes over language that cosmopolitan environments produce. It is not an imposed English dominance that threatens pluralism, but self-selection. Coconut presents this challenge through Fikile but also tries to answer it through Ofilwe and Tshepo. Forgetting native African languages in favour of English is disempowering but to hybridize English with them can be restorative. Carolyn
McKinney, in her study of English in post-apartheid schools, discovers that some students regard English as a way of freeing themselves from a static culture (20). They may be called "coconut" when they speak English (7), but they are able to challenge the negative stereotypes of black people in South Africa. Matlwa does not advocate an anachronistic freezing of African languages. She highlights through Palesa and Ofilwe that English can be of great value to young, black South Africans, but she does not want
English to become uncritically dominant either. South Africa is a good example of a country in which English has become widespread but not monolithic. None of the African languages endemic to the country are threatened. They may not have the currency they 281 once did, but they are still used routinely, with an ever-increasing interest from younger generations who are looking to connect back with their family's cultures.203
Matlwa herself enacts this productive hybridizing of language. Her novel leaves words and phrases in African languages unglossed. For example, a man calls Fikile an
"abo mabhebeza" (133) which translates loosely as "babe." As Fikile travels to work she hears "Yo, o monthle ne" or "let me walk you to work, ngwana" (140). Ngwana means child, but this is meant to be diminutive, gendered, and flirtatious. There are many examples of unglossed words in Coconut because they give the sense of what life "in- between" is like. For Fikile, these phrases she hears encode not only culture but gender relations as well. The phrases capture the linguistic diminution of women. This is, of course, a feature of all languages as they have been influenced by global patriarchal culture. In this context, Matlwa gives a sense of gendered life in the vernacular in South
Africa. She is writing for a cosmopolitan audience who can either understand those phrases, or be comfortable with being excluded from their meaning. In a cosmopolitan sphere language is not imposed and therefore there are times when people cannot understand one another. This does not have to mean that they cannot remain in dialogue.
The syncretism of the novel represents the linguistic syncretism that is so integral to
South African nationhood. Despite the many problems within South Africa today, language continues to be an area in which blending bespeaks bonding. South Africans
203 Mark Abley's Spoken Here: Travels Among Threatened Languages explores what threatens and what revives languages. Studies such as his underscore how languages may die, but they rarely go out without a fight: "So, the odds against reviving a language are long. So, die obstacles are many. So, the archives of history are filled with ghostly voices. Is that any reason to give up the struggle?" (229). His portrayal of those who continue to speak threatened languages demonstrates how resistive the simple act of speaking can be. 282 across races have learned smatterings of one another's languages in order to get along; the way people speak highlights their cosmopolitan interactions in the quotidian.
Cosmopolitanism in Coconut presents the problems of internalized racism that can accompany in-between hybridity. Cosmopolitanism can also, however, produce a hybridity that usurps and augments the dominant language, race, and culture, even producing new alliances. Spencer worries that Ofilwe experiences "tension between various ethnic African ideals and global Western values of whiteness, between life in the township and the cosmopolitan promises of the city, and between a tradition of prioritizing of family and community and the allure of self-invention" (Spencer 66).
Spencer replicates Tshepo's concerns over Ofilwe living "between two worlds," but this
"in-between" existence is precisely the point of departure for the cosmopolitan.204
Hybridity, or "creolization," (Lionnet 1503; Prabhu 5; Hannerz 239) critiques English's imperial history and dominance, and changes the language to suit South African culture, experience, and purpose. Creolization, a linguistic incarnation of hybridity, posits that mixing leads to increased cosmopolitan contact, which can form new bonds. Francois
204 Said reminds us that: It is no exaggeration to say that liberation as an intellectual mission, born in the resistance and opposition to the confinements and ravages of imperialism, has now shifted from the settled, established, and domesticated dynamics of culture to its unhoused, decentred, and exilic energies [...] whose consciousness is that of the intellectual and artist in exile, the political figure between domains, between forms, between homes, between languages. (Said, CI 403) 205 The term "creolization" partly originates out of the tension between Derek Walcott and Kamau Brathwaite. Much like the conversation between Achebe and Ngugi in the African context, these Caribbean writers debate whether English can be useful to express a postcolonial culture. Brathwaite's The Development of Creole Society in Jamaica, 1770-1820 articulates that English must be "creolized," or affected and mixed with other colonial and native languages, to really express Caribbean culture. A form of cosmopolitan hybridity, creolization addresses the ways in which language cannot stay static but rather must change according to shifting power politics. 283 Lionnet's "cosmopolitan creolization" (1503), for example, argues that the dialogue that flows across languages and in-between cultures creates "creolized solidarities"
(1509). These solidarities are what ultimately make cosmopolitanism useful for resistance literature and re/sistering.
Hybridity is useful because it engenders connection. Bhabha writes that"[...] it is the
'inter' - the cutting edge of translation and negotiation, the in-between space - that carries the burden of the meaning of culture. [...]And by exploring this Third Space, we may elude the politics of polarity and emerge as the others of our selves" (56). It is through negotiation and dialogue that the novel exemplifies the "third space" of the
"coconut." Coconut brings together two first-person personas in order to suggest that differing points of view can be held together. Neither silences nor revises the other, but both exist in one textual space. The novel is therefore not just written about cosmopolitanism, but written in a cosmopolitan style in which dialogue is not controlled by a unified and dominant perspective. The contrast created through Fikile and Ofilwe's distinct first-person sections leaves a "third space" in between their overlapping points of view for a reconciliation of their ideas. Although they do not reconcile in the content of the text the reader must reconcile their narratives in order to make sense of the whole.
The contrasting perspectives illustrate that, despite the differences between them, both
Fikile and Ofilwe are "coconut," hybrid, and that their commonalities unite them. Each highlights the complexities of the other, and they therefore enact Bhabha's point about discovering "the others of our selves." Finding the other and learning to speak across difference is the cosmopolitan project. 284 Local/Global Economics and BEE
The previous section addressed how hybridity can either be constricting or liberating. This is true of one of the major hybridities of the contemporary cosmopolitan world: the local/global. Hybridity is not simply about racial mixing, but also about economic and political structures: "In an increasingly globalized world, the term
'hybridity' has become the means for reflecting upon the relationship between the 'local' and the 'global' and the multiple ways in which globality, region, and locality feature in 0(\f% economic, political, and cultural forms and practices" (Coombes and Brah 12).
Determining how the local and global produce and reinforce one another is part of the
cosmopolitan project. Although Appiah prefers the term "cosmopolitanism" to
"globalization" the processes are not mutually exclusive.207 It is because globalization
refers to mainly economic processes, and cosmopolitanism to social ones, that Appiah
makes the distinction, but both globalization and cosmopolitanism are negotiations
between the global and the local. Just as racial and linguistic hybridity present both
206 Alberto Moreiras points out that both globalises and localities are always-already hybridized by the impact of the other (399). 207 The distinction between cosmopolitanism and globalization is blurry, just as all possible definitions of either are. As Arif Dirlik says, "the fruitlessness of efforts to define the concept of globalization is evident in the many efforts to do so, which are most notable for their failure to establish a plausible correspondence between their definitions and the realities of the world" {Global Modernity 5). Compare his statement with: "cosmopolitanism may be a project whose conceptual content and pragmatic character are not only as yet unspecified but also must always escape positive and definite specification, precisely because specifying cosmopolitanism positively and definitely is an uncosmopolitan thing to do" (Breckenridge et al.l). Because these phenomena are created by connections and cross-overs clear distinctions are impossible. Something needs to be said about how cosmopolitanism and globalization affect, are produced by, and now constitute postcolonialism. This dissertation is about postcolonial theory and literature, and this chapter reflects some of the changes within this field. There is no clear distinction between the postcolonial and the global. Postcolonial theory is increasingly global theory. See, for example, Dirlik ("Postcolonial Aura"). In The Postcolonial and the Global Revathi Krishnaswamy and John C. Hawley articulate how resistance movements are changing in a globalized world, such as through the World Social Forum (WSF), 285 challenges for cosmopolitan subjects and possibilities for productive "in- betweenness," the local/global is a hybrid that informs cosmopolitanism in myriad ways.
This section addresses Coconut's depiction of the local/global and how its cosmopolitan creolization can be resistive.
"Coconut" hybridity is a crossing of class boundaries previously demarcated in
South Africa along racial lines. Globalized capitalism and trade propelled the South
African "transformation," but the specificities of the South African "glocal" necessitated
race-based interventions into the capitalist system. The result was economic programs
such as Black Economic Empowerment (BEE).209 Under the BEE program in South
Africa businesses that were seen to be diversifying and hiring the "previously
disadvantaged"210 into the upper echelons of management have been rewarded by
government contracts and other financial incentives. This was the means of shifting class
where local groups are able to come together in a global arena to identify areas for possible coalition. Projects like the WSF challenge economic globalization through social globalization. If there can be global trade agreements and global institutions such as the World Trade Organization to enforce them, why can there not be globalized rights, healthcare, minimum wage, environmental legislation, education, and other globalized social agreements? The growing concerns of the cosmopolitan are how to take local circumstances and needs and connect with global others who share those needs, or share an interest in seeing such needs met globally: "the globalization of human rights has become the cornerstone of the project of cosmopolitan global politics" (Hayden 65). BEE is a policy of the Mbeki government which became law in 2003 with the "Broad-based black economic empowerment act," (BBBEE Act) which states its aim as being "to establish a legislative framework for the promotion of black economic empowerment." BEE is a nation-building strategy designed to extricate black populations from the lower echelons of socio-economic class. There are many articles and books that debate the successes and failures of BEE. For a particularly good critical view, as well as a history of BEE in South Africa, see "Black Economic Power and Nation-Building in Post- Apartheid South Africa" (Iheduru).The BBBEE Act itself can be found here: http://www.info.gov.za/view/DownloadFileAction?id=68031. 210 This is the language in BEE legislation. "Previously disadvantaged" has been a contested term, with many groups arguing that the term "black" in "BEE" should apply to white women, Chinese immigrant populations, South Africans designated as "Coloured" and people with disabilities. All of this raises interesting questions about the essentialism of "blackness" in post-apartheid South Africa, especially as it relates to local/global economics and how they inform nation-building. 286 power from whites to blacks in the transition from apartheid to democracy. One of the major goals for the transition was to integrate South Africa's economy into the global economy as anti-apartheid sanctions had previously limited this type of integration. Local and global economics for South Africa are intrinsically tied; BEE is reinforced by foreign investment, and foreign investment is encouraged by the changing class and economic "511 situation in the country. Matlwa represents the shifting class positions that have led to significant ascensions for some black families, but she also highlights some of the problems and critiques of the interaction between the local and the global economic in
South Africa.
"Coconuts" are hybrid subjects produced by this local/global. We have already seen how, in terms of race and language, hybridity can signify subversion. Globalized economics, however, seek to limit such subversion by concentrating capital and the power it carries. Fikile's uncle demonstrates some of these problems; he is not empowered by hybridity, but rather he engages with a dangerous form of mimicry. Fikile is portrayed as naively invested in American-style consumer and class ambition, but her portrayal also makes her drive towards "project infinity" seem understandable given the conditions from which she comes. Her abusive uncle is well-educated, yet has amounted
211 Willie Esterhuyse's "Broad-based Black Economic Empowerment and the Deracialization of the South African Economy" is one of the few publications that takes a positive view of BEE: "one can safely say that South Africa's economic transition - that is, the restructuring of the South African economy and the integration of the restructured economy into a globalizing economy (a very complex process) - was a complete success" (112-113). "Success" both within and outside South Africa is perceived as being about "glocal" economic integration. 287 to very little. When "Uncle"212 is first introduced, he complains that he is "fortune's fool" (99) because he is being manipulated by the white business owners of "Lentso
Communications" (105). Fikile's uncle, a former security guard for the company, is dressed up and brought into high profile meetings so that the company may qualify for
BEE incentives. He is not, however, permitted to speak (105)213 "Uncle" is fluent in
English but is continually silenced. He is not able to actually act in high-power positions but must perform as though he is in order to benefit his white employers. Matlwa's depiction suggests that apparent economic change in South Africa is, in reality, a pretense, a facade.214
Matlwa's construction of this character critiques economic processes, but not necessarily the "coconut" altogether. Fikile's uncle performs as though he is a "coconut," but in fact he is a "mimic man."215 The "mimic man" is an early version of the "coconut;" he is one who performs whiteness. He is, however, also an inversion: the "coconut" is
"white" on the inside, whereas the "mimic man" is simply donning a "white mask." In
Fanon's first chapter of Black Skin White Masks, "The Negro and Language" he describes how language is central to the assumption of a "white mask": "To speak a language is to
212 He is named simply "Uncle" in the text because this is what Fikile calls him, and the narrative unfolds from her point of view. 213 This type of "fronting" is common in South Africa (Esterhuyse 115), ensuring that BEE continues to put money into the hands of white business-owners. See also former South African Student Organization head Themba Sono's Black Economic Empowerment: Reality or Illusion in South African Organizations. 214 This corresponds with the general view of BEE that it has made some difference in terms of equalization blacks and whites economically, but has fallen significantly short of its goals. See South Africa's Mail and Guardian's 2009 report on the successes and failures of BEE. In April 2010 The Economist reported that BEE in South Africa, according to President Jacob Zuma and others, has "failed." 215 In V.S. Naipaul's Mimic Men, similar characters perform similar roles. They attempt to integrate into "white" culture, the culture of privilege, but their performances fall short and they are never granted the social power they desire. 288 take on a world, a culture. The [...] Negro who wants to be white will be the whiter as he gains greater mastery of the cultural tool that language is" (38). Fikile's uncle's experience of English is that it makes him "fortune's fool" - he is a Fanonian neurotic whose attempts at wearing a "white mask" have left him disempowered. "Uncle" can speak English, quotes Shakespeare often, but his use of English does not afford him the social power he craves. Rather, it demonstrates how he has become a subject of, and subjugated by, the British Empire.216 He is conditioned by his education and the literature that comprised it to become a puppet of white power - first colonial power, and now the power of post-apartheid business owners. These are some of the apparent problems of globalized economics as they influence local class aspirations: they produce the facade of change and growth, but rarely deliver in actuality. "Uncle" is conditioned to remain static 917 in terms of his class.
The novel suggests that even those who have become successful under BEE are living a facade. Fikile despises her uncle for his failure, but she also despises those who have become successful, like the Tlous family. She cannot stand the pretense of "BEE families. Fake hearts and fake lives all dressed up in designer labels bought yesterday"
216 This is once again an area in which Bhabha imbues Fanon's ideas with agency. He takes the idea of mimicry and translates it into a type of performance that is able to critique the colonial tongue, even while emulating it. His chapter "Of mimicry and man: the ambivalence of colonial discourse" asserts that there can be a "double articulation" (122) in a colonial language. One can perform Englishness and whiteness, one can perform being the ideal colonial subject, but one can produce "slippages" which reveal the performativity. These slippages indicate that, as the colonizer seeks to control the "mimic man," the performance is never entirely under his control and can be used to subvert him. This does not apply to "uncle" but can apply to others in the novel like Tshepo. 217 His abuse of Fikile clearly stems from his lack of power. The text does not excuse his sexual abuse of her but it makes clear that, because he experiences a lack of control in the public sphere, he seeks Fikile's comfort at home. The text oversimplifies sexual abuse in these terms, but it is necessary to note the connection between Uncle's mimicry and lack of power as it informs his character. He is not only wearing a "white mask," but he is emasculated in the process. 289 (165), and notes that their performance of middle-class culture often subverts itself with its own inauthenticity: "When I ask you if you want feta cheese in your salad, you will say, 'Yes, grated please'. When I go get your fruit smoothie, you will stop me and say, thinking that you are really smart, 'Make it decaf!'" (174). Fikile is reacting against a type of cosmopolitanism, coming out of increased economic success, which is centred on consumerism and capitalism. Although Fikile herself has class ambitions, she notices that fa9ade and pretense continue to demarcate blackness in disempowering ways. The novel is certainly not, however, suggesting that black culture is or should be inherently tied to poverty. Instead it cautions about the dangers of cosmopolitanism and globalized culture as dominated by capitalism.
Coconut is critical of the capitalist interventions in the local/global of South
Africa. The novel acts as a "subtle indictment of the materialism of the New South
Africa, where the immorality of apartheid has been traded for the amorality of the money culture" (Van Gend 18-19). Through Fikile, Matlwa highlights how the convergence between local and global economics can co-opt oppressed subjects into participating in their own subjugation. Fikile buys into the capitalist dream that, if she works hard enough, she can transcend her class.218 Matlwa highlights how, whereas racial oppression under apartheid was overt and therefore an obvious target for resistance, the politics of class are more insidious; capitalism encourages a belief that individual choices construct
218 Jameson's description of the "political unconscious" reminds us that false consciousness is Marx's greatest warning. It speaks "of class bias and ideological programming, the lesson of the structural limits of the values and attitudes of particular social classes, or in other words of the constitutive relationship between the praxis of such groups and what they conceptualize as value or desire and project in the form of culture" (Jameson, PU 281-2). 290 one's circumstances, and therefore obfuscates its own processes that continue to stratify along class lines. Fikile has come to learn the world of the upper class, even though she must return to her uncle's shabby place in the township. She has none of the things she speaks to her customers about, including expensive vacations, dramatic break ups, spoiled children, and drunken nights out (166), but she has learned the discourse of this world. As a result, Fikile has convinced herself that "these are my kind of people.
People with stuff to show for themselves. [...] I understand them. They understand me.
Not like the people at home whose minds are still lodged in the past" (161). This important passage critiques the idea that, in order to move on from the legacy of apartheid, black South Africans have to integrate into bourgeois society. The passage represents an unsuccessful attempt on the part of some South Africans to ameliorate the problems of the past through materialism and consumerism, neither of which will address the lingering political and economic disparities created by a long history of inequality. In trying to "move on" through becoming rich, the intersection of class and race are depoliticized. Although Coconut shows that black people have ascended in class, it also highlights that class positions continue to be affected by race and gender, and that there is more political work to be done. Matlwa's novel critiques the attitude in which consumerism replaces politics, and aspirations of "freedom" become about what one can buy as the marker of social power.
Coconut contrasts Fikile's experience of disempowerment through consumer culture with Ofilwe's, whose awareness of the problems created by the "amorality of money culture" does not prevent her from feeling its impact. While these characters 291 appear to be in opposition, Matlwa uses both positions to explore the problematic effect of consumer culture on South Africa. The fa?ade that Fikile despises in "coconuts" conditions Ofilwe's feelings of self-hatred. Ofilwe is critical of how class informs every aspect of who she is. She wonders whether, if she were growing up in her mother's township, she would name and play with stones instead of playing solitaire on her mother's laptop (13).219 This passage continues to describe Ofilwe's bourgeois lifestyle, complete with her "decaf Cafe Latte at Bedazzle" (13) and the fact that she can brag to her friends that her "Daddy is picking [her] up in his new Mercedez-Benz" (15). Ofilwe's world is completely conditioned by consumerism, brands define her activities and her thoughts,220 but the novel makes clear that this does not fulfill her. She feels uncomfortable at the Silver Spoon cafe because she realizes her family does not fit in the way the other (white) "regulars" do (30). She notes, however, that Fikile "fits in fine"
(30). Ironically, Fikile resents Ofilwe's ability to "fit in" as a customer at Silver Spoon.
Ofilwe actually comes from privilege while Fikile has to steal brand name jeans in order to work there (119) because, her boss tells her, she must represent "the class that Silver
Spoon promises to deliver" (121). The consumer culture that capitalism has encouraged in South Africa pits people like Ofilwe and Fikile against each other. Both of these young women, although similar in many ways, become acutely aware of the ways in which the other might fit more exactly into capitalist and consumerist ideals. Capitalism replicates the type of "divide and conquer" mentality that anti-apartheid activists fought against. It
219 The implications of this passage on chapter three are many. Tihelo, in Dancing in the Dust often plays with stones. Ofilwe and Fikile are two other figures for girlhood, and much of chapter three therefore explicates them. 220 Think of the "Colgate smiles" she imagines on her future pink children (19). 292 seals divisions between people along class-lines, rather than allowing for a more open society that encourages alliances.
The issue of alliances becomes important in the representation of South Africa's economic local/global which occurs at the "Silver Spoon Cafe." The name of the cafe reveals its purpose; it is a place that the "who's who" go for "exotic coffee beans imported from Peru, El Salvador and New Guinea" (141). Over these cups of coffee, themselves representative of the global commodities trade that enables Africans to drink
South American coffee on a whim, "business deals are struck [...] that determine the price of the rand and the price of gold. Alliances are formed at Silver Spoon and contracts signed for billions of dollars" (141). The Silver Spoon acts as a representation of, and a hub for, the trade in global capital. This passage identifies South Africa's position in globalized economics as a gold-mining centre. Gold was a significant factor in the colonization of South Africa, and those same colonial processes are often mirrored in the globalized politics and economics that continue to transfer wealth from South Africa to
Europe. Currencies at the cafe range from Rand to gold to dollars in this description, highlighting how the cafe represents the meeting place between the local and global. The
"alliances" that are formed there transcend racial and national boundaries, and transnational trade makes this possible. However the novel suggests that other alliances, ones that would not circumscribe class stratifications so rigidly, are also possible.
The convergence between the local and the global, sometimes referred to as
"glocalization," began primarily as an economic process but can be redeployed towards resistance activities. The term "glocal," originating in political theory through Roland 293 Robertson, refers to the transnational networks of resistance that can be formed when local struggles find global coalition. Robertson adopts the term from a Japanese business model which integrates micro-marketing strategies with global campaigns (28).221
Robertson's "glocal" models how to transform ideas and strategies from globalized capitalism into globalized resistance movements. Coconut as resistance literature critiques "glocalized" capitalism's impact on South Africa, but also demonstrates how literature can resist such effects by usurping the strategies of glocalized economics and applying them towards resistance movements and cultural transformation. The Silver
Spoon is a hub where local meets global and transnational business deals take place, but it is also the site of convergence between Ofilwe and Fikile. The novel suggests through their comparison that these characters could be allies, but they are divided and disempowered by consumer culture. The cafe as the metaphorical meeting place can, however, be recuperated through an understanding of the "glocal" and how it can produce alliances between social activists across races and classes, rather than solidifying divisions between them.
The strategies of "glocalization" can therefore be used towards cosmopolitan ethics. For example, the South African notion of ubuntu has been applied to globalized social networks. Jeff Popke uses the concept to explain that "to enact cosmopolitanism, we will need to continue to foster [...] negotiations, dialogues and responsibilities [...], to open ourselves to alternative forms of geographical reason, and to actively take up the
221 For a view of how the 'glocal' is currently used in globalized economic business models, see Carr (2005). 294 ethical challenges arising from our 'thrown togetherness' with others" (515).
Similarly, James Mittelman calls ubuntu, with its "emphasis on community and solidarity
[...] an indigenous cosmopolitanism" (114). Ubuntu is a localized, South African form of cosmopolitanism that responds to the globalized mixing of post-apartheid South
Africa,222 and it exemplifies how local concepts and structures can have an impact on global alliances. Jan Pieterse argues that the "glocal" can be used towards a praxis of resistance:
Globalization can mean the reinforcement of or go together with localism, as in
'Think globally, act locally'. This kind of tandem operation of local/global
dynamics, global localization or glocalization, is at work in the case of minorities
who appeal to transnational human rights standards beyond state authorities, or
indigenous peoples who find support for local demands from transnational
networks. (49)
Pieterse exemplifies Appiah's call for cosmopolitanism as a response to globalized economics. Appiah writes,"[...] together we can ruin poor farmers by dumping our subsidized grain into their markets, cripple industries by punitive tariffs, deliver weapons that will kill [...] Together, we can raise standards of living by adopting new policies on trade, [...] take measures against global climate change, encourage resistance to tyranny
222 Many theorists demonstrate the importance of the "glocal" by highlighting how the local has changed globalization. Arjun Appadurai's influential Modernity at Large describes "the production of locality" (178) as a necessary intervention into some of the problems globalization creates. Ulf Hannerz's view of cosmopolitanism is that it is a global phenomenon comprised of local subjects. He notes that "the world culture is created through the increasing interconnectedness of varied local cultures" (237) and concludes therefore that "there can be no cosmopolitans without locals" (250). The meeting of the local and global is the meeting place of the cosmopolitan. 295 and a concern for the worth of each human life" (Cosmopolitanism xiii). The synthesis between the "glocal" and the cosmopolitan is this question of ethics. The term
"glocal" is now much more frequently applied to social activism than business models, which signifies the success of its usurpation and subversion. The "glocal" engenders alliances to be formed when they would previously have been impossible.
Coconut demonstrates that cosmopolitanism ultimately has to be about culture over capitalism. The dislocation both Ofilwe and Fikile feel is a result of how local/global economics in South Africa are constructed by, and are inextricable from, local/global culture.224 Both of these women clearly long for a sense of culture that transcends capitalism and consumerism, but are somewhat lost in terms of what that may mean. The convergence in Coconut between issues of economics/class and issues of culture reflects a current theoretical preoccupation with the intersection between globalization and culture. John Tomlinson's Globalization and Culture depicts the local/global as a cultural intervention in some of the homogenizing effects of globalized economics. Tomlinson calls cosmopolitanism "ethical glocalism" (194), because cosmopolitans can "live - ethically, culturally - in both the global and the local at the same time" (195), and these ethics are constructed and disseminated through cultural
223 Another theoretical construct that refers to solidarities in the local/global is critical regionalism. The concept comes from architecture, but now applies to the deconstruction of local/global borders towards greater interdependence. Douglas Reichert Powell's seminal work on critical regionalism as a social project argues "critical regionalism works in solidarity with the historically disempowered populations of its communities to transform their local material circumstances while linking their particular struggles to larger ones" (26). This indicates the ways in which the "glocal" is informing recent trends in social, political, and literary theory. 24 Recent publications cite the connection between globalized economics and culture, for example Critical Arts 24.1 (2010) which is devoted to "Cultural economy in post-transitional South Africa" and covers the connection between economics and culture, as they are informed by both local and global processes. 296 production. Tomlinson is responding to what is perceived by theorists as one of the major threats of globalism: "cultural imperialism." Cultural material such as the media, entertainment, and literature that inform a local population can be overtaken by the high- budget products coming from the West. In a place like South Africa, where literature, art, theatre, and music have been integral to the national consciousness and resistance struggle, the idea that "culture" increasingly refers to American-made art and media has wide-scale implications.
Matlwa's novel both warns about and challenges cultural imperialism. It asks important questions about the imposition of American culture on a South African audience. The novel itself has been exported throughout the world, thus highlighting that culture does not simply move in one direction. It is in offering cultural material, as opposed to consumerism, and critiquing both capitalism and cultural products as Western exports, that the novel recuperates culture as a cosmopolitan phenomenon. When Ofilwe reflects on how she came to value English over Sepedi, she thinks, "I knew from a very young age that Sepedi would not take me far" (54) and so she speaks the "TV language
[...] that spoke of sweet success" (54). The "TV" as a medium for Western cultural imposition has an imperializing impact on Ofilwe, but not entirely. We have already seen how Ofilwe ultimately reintegrates Sepedi into her everyday use. This vernacular cosmopolitanism is a resistance to cultural imperialism. Similarly, the novel clearly critiques Fikile's "project infinity" which is inspired by American magazines that show
225 Edward Said's Culture and Imperialism is the seminal text regarding cultural imperialism within postcoloniality. 297 her a world of affluence and glamour (166 - 167). Matlwa's novel, a cultural production in itself, depicts and resists cultural imperialism in which consumerism replaces other cultural products and aspirations.
Above I have described how Tshepo enacts Appiah's "cosmopolitan reading," a strategy that uses literature to "decolonize the mind" (Ngugi) and to effect what Appiah calls the "cosmopolitan imagination," in which a diversity of identities can flourish within one individual and within any given society. Literature serves several purposes in a cosmopolitan environment. It is cultural material that, unlike the pop culture consumed by Ofilwe and Fikile, can challenge dominant ideas and stereotypes through the circulation of a plurality of ideas. Appiah's cosmopolitanism relies on this cosmopolitan imagination as constructed through literature, and this is why resistance literature in a cosmopolitan world has heightened importance. Srinivas Aravamudan's Tropicopolitans makes this point. By combining the words trope/tropic/cosmopolitan, Aravamudan illuminates how the process of colonization relied on troping its "tropical" (we might easily extend the idea to "colonial") subjects. Stereotypes imposed by colonial domination continue to affect postcolonial subjects, as evidenced by Ofilwe and Fikile's struggles with self-hatred. The "tropicopolitan" resists harmful stereotypes and representations by exposing the catachreses of the "tropical" or colonial subject (5), thereby disarming them. Literacy and literature become the means through which the metaphors of subjugation and subjection can be redeployed towards subjectivity.
Aravamudan argues that because Enlightenment "cosmopolitanism" led "to the globalization of commerce as civilization and literacy as culture, metaliteracy reminds 298 readers of the violence of the word upon the world" (289). During colonialism, cultural production became inextricable with commercial production, and this allowed for the types of "troping" that led to the internalization/epidermalization of racism and classism. However, current cosmopolitans can reverse and revise the tropes. A
"tropicopolitan" can both subvert damaging tropes and create new ones that signify different possibilities for formerly colonized subjects. All of this speaks to the contemporary urgency for resistance literature that fulfills a cosmopolitan ethic. And all of it addresses the local/global. Aravamudan summarizes the "tropicopolitan" ambition by assessing our contemporary moment, our "now": "In this new Enlightenment, global theorists give way to local intellectuals, metropolitan readers are trumped by their colonial cousins, and cosmopolitans yield to tropicopolitans" (331). In other words, the local/global, as constructed through a literacy and metaliteracy that can expose and challenge colonial tropes and globalization as culture, resists.
The concern over cultural imperialism relies on a conception of a fixed, unitary, originary, and authentic local culture. While this has never been true, in a cosmopolitan world it is preposterous to imagine such a possibility; the hybridities cosmopolitanism produces reject origins and focus instead on crossings. The local/global is a key mode through which these crossings occur. Although the local has been celebrated for resisting cultural imperialism, the "glocal" is better able to articulate how the local's intervention into worldwide cultural phenomena combats the problems of global capitalism. Tomlinson suggests that critics who argue against "cultural imperialism" are
226 Such as in Stuart Hall's call for a "counter politics of the local" (41) 299 often duped by "the myth of pre-modern localism" (128). Arjun Appadurai agrees:
"natives, people confined to and by the places to which they belong, groups unsullied by contact with a larger world, have probably never existed" (Qtd. in Morley and Robins
128), and Bill Ashcroft points out that local culture has always resisted colonization, but has also transformed with temporal and spatial changes: "many critics have argued that colonialism destroyed indigenous cultures, but this assumes that culture is static. It underestimates the resilience and adaptability of colonial societies. On the contrary, colonized cultures have often been so resilient and transformative that they have changed the character of imperial culture itself' (2). The concept of the local/global re-reads earlier colonial and postcolonial notions of local culture, and how they have been historically considered within a primitivist paradigm.
Coconut cosmopolitanism, therefore, is a way of revising the warnings of
"cultural imperialism" for our increasingly globalized world. Although novels like
Coconut demonstrate some of the threats of globalized culture to local culture, they also resist those threats by inserting local stories and voices into the global sphere, and by modifying global culture itself. Appiah calls this process "cosmopolitan contamination"
(101), where the local modifies the global and vice versa: "people who complain about the homogeneity produced by globalization often fail to notice that globalization is, equally, a threat to homogeneity" (101). Appiah therefore critiques the "curious assumptions of those who are busy around the world 'preserving culture' and resisting
'cultural imperialism'" (105). This "don't ever change" (105) mentality resorts to the type of stereotyping and assumptions of authenticity based on essentialized race that 300 proponents of "preserving culture" should want to challenge. Instead, cosmopolitanism relies on a view of local and global culture as mutually constituting.
The locality that Appiah uses to make his point is South Africa. This is not coincidental: "South Africa has emerged as symbolic of the new world in which we live, inspiring many around the globe with its peaceful transition and efforts to redress past injustice while surviving in the global market" (Mullings 61). Many studies use South
Africa as an example of the possibilities for positive interaction between the local and the global. Of course there are examples in other postcolonial locations of resistance to the perceived threat of "cultural imperialism" through "glocal" cultural production228 but
South Africa, as a local space that resonates globally particularly because of the global interest in the end of apartheid, is able to fortify Appiah's claims of cosmopolitan
"contamination" as a positive phenomenon. Appiah's first presentation on cosmopolitanism was at a South African conference, which propelled him to start thinking of postcolonial, African literature as cosmopolitan ("Cosmopolitan Reading"11).
This is one example of how contemporary South African literature, the variety I call resistance literature in this dissertation, is affecting the global literary landscape towards cosmopolitan ethics. This is demonstrated by critics who ask "why do the stories South
Africa tells itself about itself [...] have such peculiar resonance globally?" (Denman and
227 In terms of South African literary study, a good example is the 2006 combined conference of the South African Association for Commonwealth Language and Literature Studies and the Association of University English Teachers of Southern Africa. The conference was entitled "Forging the Local and the Global" and the conference proceedings include many articles arguing for the type of "cultural contamination" that Appiah champions. For another description of the "glocal" in South African cultural production see Klopper (2008). For an excellent history of how the economic and political circumstances of present-day South Africa have been constructed through globalization see Harris and Lauderdale (2002). 228 See for example Mukheijee (2000) and La Trecchia (2009). 301 van der Vlies 5). Ngugi provides one possible answer in Decolonizing the Mind in which he writes that Mandela so captured the global imagination as the ultimate figure for resistance that people around the world could identify with him and therefore with
South Africa's struggles. He writes that "Mandela is to black South Africa's struggles what black South Africa's struggles are to the democratic forces of the world in the twentieth-century. Indeed, South Africa is a mirror of the modern world in its emergence over the last four hundred years" (147 - 148). Coconut is a local story that has global resonance.229 Matlwa includes a brief concluding statement to the novel in which she writes "it is our story, told in our own words as we feel it every day. [...] It is the story we have to tell" (191), yet this story of the local and particular engages with struggles felt throughout the globalized, cosmopolitan, postcolonial world.
Coconut challenges cultural imperialism, especially as it is tied to class-ascension and bourgeois acquisitiveness, and articulates instead the need for more meaningful connection, facilitated through culture and politics.230 This shows that resistance literature is changing as a result of "glocalization" and cosmopolitanism. Globalization, after all, requires interconnection; never before have local struggles had access to similar movements worldwide, and never before have the problems and needs of one culture had
229 She was the recipient of the European Union Literary Award which "has at its core the ideal of promoting new, fresh literature that speaks in a South African idiom to an international audience" (http://jacana.co.za/cms/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=16&Itemid=38). 230 This type of "glocalizing," or usurpation of globalization as culture towards local and particular purposes, is "globalization from below" (Appadurai, Globalization 3; Breckenridge 157; Clifford 276). Both local and global culture, and especially their hybrid mixing, can be resistive. Arif Dirlik's notion of "global localism," ("Postcolonial Aura" 90) for example, calls the local a "site of resistance," specifically because "even as it seeks to homogenize populations globally, consuming their cultures, Global Capitalism enhances awareness of the local, pointing to it also as the site of resistance to capital" (96). The problems caused by globalization are also the seeds of its subversion. 302 a direct impact on so many others. The local/global, and the potential for connections across and between cultures that it offers, answers Appiah's question about cosmopolitanism: how do we live with others, who may be different from us, ethically?
Consumerist culture does not provide an answer, but Coconut suggests that a culture of cooperation can. This dissertation's focus is re/sistering in resistance literature and the cultural products that promote bridging differences amongst women to create change.
The final section addresses how cosmopolitanism, as constructed through the local/global, enables re/sistering and the resistance literature that encodes it.
Coconut Cosmopolitanism and Re/sistering
One of the main social movements to take up the "glocal" as a transnational strategy of solidarity is the women's movement. "Glocal" feminism is a transnational feminism that allows feminist activism to occur at a local level but within the framework of larger international networks. "Glocal" feminism uses the networks that globalization creates to subvert the patriarchal, classist, and racist nature of globalized economics; it uses globalization's own tools to subvert it. This transnational re/sistering is appropriate for a cosmopolitan world in which we have more contact with, and a better ability to support, one another transnational^ than ever before, while understanding that our struggles are not always the same. "Glocalized" feminism is a way of respecting difference, but also of supporting one another where struggles align.
One of the main critiques that Matlwa makes against globalized economics and culture is that they commodity women. Ofilwe's mother Gemina marries into money and has to endure her husband's infidelity. Her mother tells her that she cannot leave him or 303 else she will be reduced to poverty: "without him, my girl, you is nothing" (13). In
South Africa, the opportunities afforded by BEE have largely led to the ascension of men in business. As these processes exclude women the choices available to become middle-class are either through marriage, like Gemina, or by having a "sugar daddy".232
Fikile's pursuit of "project infinity" therefore includes flirting with all of the male customers in the Silver Spoon Cafe (22). When the primary way for women to ascend in class is through their relationships with men, patriarchy remains tied to capitalist power.
Ofilwe's mother gets a weekly allowance (50), and Fikile must ask herself whether she is
"for sale" (175) as she considers a sugar daddy's offer. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak suggests that globalized capitalism creates and perpetuates the commodification of women, and that male dominance follows as a direct result. She writes that the "woman's body is [...] the last instance in a system whose general regulator is still the loan: usurer's capital, imbricated, level by level, in national industrial and transnational global capital"
(iOutside 82). She argues that women's bodies continue to be their only asset that is valued, in an economic sense, by their societies. This means that economic exploitation is always-already tied to patriarchal exploitation. In globalizing economics, patriarchy becomes globalized as well. She writes that"[...] globalization [...] is not an overcoming of the gendered body. The persistent agendas of nationalisms and sexuality are encrypted
231 "Since the demise of apartheid, the ANC government's Black Economic Empowerment Program has been criticised as targeting mainly black male South African entrepreneurs" ("Sanoco" 21). 232 Acquiring a "sugar daddy" has become a popular way in South Africa for girls to acquire material goods. Young, school-aged, women have sex with or become the "girlfriends" of much older affluent men as a matter of course. The "sugar daddy" phenomenon is discussed routinely in both informal academic and popular circles, particularly as it contributes to the high rates of HIV amongst young women in Southern Africa, but very little written scholarly information on it exists. In does appear in the news. See "Focus on the 'Sugar Daddy' Phenomenon" and Mathabane (27). 304 there in the indifference of superexploitation, of the financialization of the globe"
(Outside 95). Just as economics contribute to women's oppression, women's oppression bolsters globalized economics.
Once women are able to ascend in class-status, and they become "coconuts," their participation in consumer culture is directly tied with their performance of femininity.
Ofilwe remembers her white friend Belinda teaching her the A-Z of femininity: "After- sun. Bikini. Ballet. Barbie and Ken. Cruise. Disneyland. [...] Yoga. Yo-yo Diet. You,
You and You. Zero guilt" (40 - 41). This list identifies how middle-class femininity in
South Africa is often defined by American brand-name products and concepts. Ofilwe's mother also participates in this culture. Ofilwe notes that Gemina, by applying make-up, transforms herself from "unassuming proud mother of two and grateful housewife to cosmopolitan woman-on-the move" (65). Both roles are performances: the first is for
Ofilwe's father, so that he may continue to grant his wife her "allowance," which enables her to perform the second role of the "cosmopolitan" woman. This is the only time the word "cosmopolitan" appears in the text. It is not Appiah's style of cosmopolitanism, but a conception of cosmopolitanism as tied to consumerism. Gemina is caught in a cycle in which she must buy products and clothes to keep up the appearance of being a
"cosmopolitan" wife, but she must be subservient to her husband in order to keep earning the "allowance" that enables such consumerism. The novel describes Gemina waking up at 4:30 a.m. daily to prepare her husband's preferred breakfast. Ofilwe says that the routine was "undisputed. Like the fact that Mama's money is her own to be used on herself and nothing else because she is beautiful and it costs money to remain so" (79). 305 This quotation links Gemina's consumerism with her femininity, and how the performance of each cyclically reinforces the other.
Matlwa portrays how Gemina's performance of the "cosmopolitan-woman-on-the- move" enables her to distance herself from the oppression she felt under apartheid. Black women under apartheid were subjected triply to state law, suffering as a result of their gender, race, and class. As her mother prepares to meet her friends for lunch Ofilwe remarks that these women have nothing in common, and "in another era, in a different land with a less controversial history, none of these thirteen women would be friends"
(63). The only thing that unites them is that "all of these women are trying to forget"
(63). Matlwa links the legacy of apartheid with the continued oppression of women who have since become middle-class. Because they wish to distance themselves from the oppression of their past, they are willing to succumb to male authority in their personal lives in order to have the things that were previously denied them. Because women often have to subject themselves to male power to become "coconuts," Matlwa articulates how local and globalized politics and economics coalesce in South Africa and that, therefore, women's oppression continues to be a direct result of the politics of race and class.
The only way, then, to challenge and resist the interpolation of women and femininity by a globalized cultural economy is to apply the notion of "cosmopolitanism" as Appiah defines it: women must use their positions as "coconut" cosmopolitans to unite with other women.233 Coconut highlights South Africa's uniqueness; its apartheid history informs
233 Many feminist activists see globalization as a problematic system which produces and enforces the link between womanhood and poverty (see, for example, Sethi on the "feminization of 306 women's positions and movements differently than in other regions. Nonetheless,
many of the concerns for these South African women mirror feminist struggles globally.
Although the legacy of apartheid is specifically South African, the ways in which local
paternalism may be capitalized on by globalized (and localized) economics affects
women around the world. It is for this reason that the concept of the local/global has
particular repercussions for women's organizing. Amrita Basu's "Globalizing Local
Women's Movements" argues that feminist organizing is most effective at the local level
because particularized concerns can be central; however, a globalized network of local
women's communities can reinforce support for those local struggles and thus bolster
feminist struggle locally and globally. The "glocal" therefore translates particularly well
to the idea of re/sistering.234
Coconut does not describe transnational feminism, but it does highlight a particular
case in which women continue to be divided because of the politics of class. Although
Fikile and Ofilwe do not like one another, the text makes clear that these women are
poverty" 17). However globalization also offers the means for a co-ordinated effort at severing this link, and ending the violences arising from it: "one of the paradoxes of globalization is that it allows subaltern communities within the nation-state to create transnational alliances beyond the state to fight for their own social and human rights" (Mignolo 44). What appears to be undeniable is that in a cosmopolitan, globalized world, women must rely on one another: "to resist domination with any degree of success, women should clearly recognize that they cannot fight their battle alone. The phenomenon of globalization has made it imperative to evolve terms of collaboration among different underprivileged groups for offering unified resistance" (Pathania 202). 234 The economic base for the "glocal," the fact of the necessary connectedness between peoples resulting from the "global market," can and must be usurped for the purposes of social and political transformation. For Pieterse, this is how the "glocal" can become resistive: "glocalization is at work in the case of minorities who appeal to transnational human rights standards beyond state authorities, or indigenous peoples who find support for local demands from transnational networks" (GC 64). These networks are the expression of cosmopolitanism, or what Patrick Hayden calls, "a cosmopolitan public sphere consisting of transworld solidarities" (7). When these solidarities exist among women and women's organizations, they signify a global re/sistering. Some call this glocal feminism and some call it cosmofeminism (Breckenridge 8), but most consider these processes to be part of transnational feminism and the momentum it gains in our increasingly globalized planet. 307 more alike than they would want to acknowledge. For example, Ofilwe judges
Fikile for flirting with male customers, but she benefits from her mother's similar compromises. Both girls are also obsessed with their own beauty, and have internalized
(epidermalized) the "beauty myth" (Wolf BM) that equates whiteness with beauty and femininity. Ofilwe hates her hair (2), and Fikile cannot wait until she can buy "Lemon
Light skin-lightener cream" and "caramel-blond hair extensions" (117) - for her the culmination of "project infinity." The ways in which Fikile and Ofilwe are united in the novel gesture towards re/sistering. Although they do not reconcile in the text, Matlwa demonstrates that they are more similar than different, and that they are both suffering as a result of the divisions that class imposes on race and gender. Rather than allowing class to make enemies of women, it is a barrier around which women can re/sister.
Above I have argued that the juxtaposition of the narratives spoken by Ofilwe and
Fikile create a "third space" in which we can see connections between the characters and their narratives emerge. Bhabha writes that the hybrid "creates the discursive 'image' at the crossroads of history and literature, bridging the home and the world" (19). "Glocal" literature, where home and world meet in text as the means of representing differing perspectives, allows this bridging to take place. Tshepo hybridizes literature by blending
English and Sepedi, and by representing African culture within a modern framework.
Tshepo, as a character, reflects Matlwa's own, similar project. She provides the textual
235 Although he is not discussing women's communities specifically, the relationship between Fikile and Ofilwe can be understood through Derrida's On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, which unites the idea of cosmopolitanism with the idea of reconciliation as imagined by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The juxtaposition of his theories of cosmopolitanism and South African "forgiveness" suggest that to be cosmopolitan is to be "allied to each other according to forms of solidarity yet to be invented" (4). 308 space to bridge differing perspectives such as Ofilwe and Fikile's. Through the novel as a whole, as these two women's stories are laid bare for comparison, what emerges is not a sense of what divides them but rather of how similar these women's struggles are.
Coconut is a novel of re/sistering, not because the women learn to transcend their differences but because they do not. The reader is put in the position of having to make this connection herself, and thus is implicated as being part of the apparatus that can heal the divisions between these characters. The reader, then, is charged with "looking for the join" (Bhabha 27).
Bhabha's theory of hybridity is the theory of the bridge. Coconut is a novel about how to live with cosmopolitan hybridity, and re/sistering is an integral part of the strategy. Bhabha says that those who live "marginal" lives, lives on the peripheries and the borders, are "looking for the join" (27). Like his metaphor of the bridge, the join is what sutures together hybrid spaces. Bhabha's reading of the border is that it is not simply the division between territories that it appears to be. Rather, it is where two territories meet; it is a join. This join represents Bhabha's idea that hybridity can unite distinct subjects and positions, and it also reflects the feminist idea of a "join" in terms of re/sistering.236 This chapter's assertions about traversing the local/global divide in pursuit
236 Many feminist critics discuss hybridity as a way to link women together: "Feminist criticism is poised to move beyond the status quo toward a wider field of political identity. [...] Identity has come to mean a constantly changing voyage with respect to six different aspects: multiple oppression, multiple subject positions, contradictory subject positions, relational subjectivity, situational subjectivity, and hybridity" (Friedman 13). Spivak, for example, discusses the necessity for feminist theory and feminist practice to "cross borders" (Death of a Discipline 7). Similarly, Gloria Anzaldua produces the idea of "mestiza consciousness" (Borderlands 99) a feminist, hybrid, politicized point of view that emanates from the "borderlands." Although she is describing the border between Mexico and the United States, she acknowledges that this "mestiza 309 of "coconut cosmopolitanism" are a way for women to "join" one another in dialogue and solidarity: to re/sister. In the introduction to this dissertation I theorize the project of re/sistering through feminists such as Chandra Mohanty and Gloria Anzaldua. Mohanty
"revisits" her "Under Western Eyes" to suggest that feminist coalition across races is not only possible but necessary. Anzaldua revisits her This Bridge Called My Back in order to transform the metaphor of the bridge from one in which women walk on each other to one which closes the gap between women (Moraga and Anzaldua). The join, the
"bridge," that is possible in social movements is happening primarily through "glocal," transnational women's movements. Aimee Carol Rowe's Power Lines: On the Subject of
Feminist Alliances describes the "bridgework" (55) that creates alliances between women as integral to contemporary social change.
Coconut suggests that it is precisely because the "coconut" is a hybrid subject, and "in-between" the markers of race and class, that re/sistering matters. Ofilwe's best friend is a white girl named Belinda. Matlwa constructs their girlhood friendship through their search for four-leaf clovers, fingerpainting, and giggling about antagonizing their mothers (39 - 40). This girlhood solidarity is disrupted by racial politics. During a game of "spin the bottle" a white boy is meant to kiss Ofilwe but he backs away and says "No ways! Her lips are too dark" (45). This moment encapsulates how the standards of beauty for women, typically defined along white lines, leave young black women feeling
consciousness" is applicable in other locations: "the Borderlands are physically present wherever two or more cultures edge each other, where people of different races occupy the same territory, where under, lower, middle and upper classes touch, where the space between two individuals shrinks with intimacy" (Anzaldua preface - no pagination). All of this describes the hybrid as a tool of re/sistering. 310 "y\ 7 perpetually ugly. Ofilwe represents this internalization of white beauty for girls and women, exemplified by the posters on her wall: "White. White. White. There was not a single face of colour on the wall. I had not noticed. [...]" (92).This moment signifies
Ofilwe's recognition of her own internalization/epidermalization of racism. To undo that work internally, however, Ofilwe fluctuates in the other extreme direction. She rips down the posters and begins a "cultural detox," part of which is ending her friendship with
Belinda. The novel portrays this as a loss for both girls, thus highlighting that one can be critical of being subsumed by white culture but that severing oneself from it completely is not the answer. Ofilwe notes that she is not happy after her "detox." She says she feels sorry for both Belinda and for herself (48). As for Belinda, she does not understand
Ofilwe's sudden coolness and is clearly hurt by it. She writes Ofilwe a letter telling her she misses her and reminds her that they had pledged to be "Best Friends For Life" (47).
Having done nothing wrong herself, Belinda is also a casualty of the racism that Ofilwe experiences, as it has divided these young women. Racism affects both Belinda and
Ofilwe just as classism affects Ofilwe and Fikile. The pairings of these characters ~ across race and class ~ symbolize the connections that are broken, but that perhaps can be sutured. The girls are "looking for the join."
The novel therefore gestures towards a "coconut" cosmopolitanism in which cultures can blend through the friendships between women. The "divide and conquer" of colonialism continues to be replicated in the divisions that class and race produce. In
237 For an excellent South Afiican treatise on the subject see Sarah Nuttall's Beautiful Ugly: African and Diaspora Aesthetics. 311 order to "move on," in a productive, healthy way, Coconut suggests that it is time to re/sister, and that this impulse to re/sister is a cosmopolitan one. In Coconut the "join" is forged through the juxtaposition of narrative and in the space that unites different positions. Coconut is an example of cosmopolitan resistance literature. Transnational feminism concerns activism, but Constance Richards argues that it can also be a reading strategy. Through literature, readers can identify with women whose experiences may differ significantly from their own. Solidarity emerges not through similarity, but through assessing the commonalities that emerge between different locations, and affinities based on a confluence of goals rather than identity. Referring to Bhabha's concept of "the join,"
Richards says:
Literature can provide one arena for doing the kind of comparative political work
we demanded of transnational feminism. The global oppression of women must
be investigated as taking place in multiple sites which are both discrete and
overlapping. A Western/First World reader who wants to imagine solidarity with
South African women, utilizing a postmodern text... would negotiate the
conditions that give rise to difference at the same time as he or she desires the
'joining'. (90)
"Glocal" fiction nurtures transnational feminist reading practices and builds solidarity between transnational feminists working in broad contexts.
238 Writers and critics Leon de Kock, Louise Bethlehem, and Sonja Laden write that South Africa's role in the "global imaginaiy" is to function as a "seam" and a "suture" (276). This idea fits nicely with Coconut and Bhabha's idea of the bridge, particularly as it applies to cosmopolitan, globalized literature and culture. 312 This chapter began with a discussion of what South Africans are feeling
"now." Never before have local and global phenomena been so intertwined in producing the relations between classes, races and genders in South Africa. Never before has South
Africa been this cosmopolitan. Never before has there been such a need to re/sister.
Coconut provides a key textual example of the form resistance literature may take in the post-apartheid period. It is informed by apartheid politics but not consumed by them. It considers the problems of class and gender but continues to acknowledge how these are constructed through race. It is a contemporary look at South Africa that presents the problems and the possibilities that come with change. Mostly, it fulfills the cosmopolitan concern of depicting an "ethic of living in a world of strangers," because it creates a textual space in which positions are bridged, joined, sutured. This chapter traces how the hybridizing of the figure of the "coconut" forges some of these bridges in terms of tradition and culture, language, local/global space, and women's communities. All of the chapters in this dissertation have considered how re/sistering, in today's cosmopolitan climate, is both local and global, both individual and transnational. This chapter ends as they all have - with the understanding that the way that literature can encode and promote resistance is through an ethos of connection, a cosmopolitan ethos. The "now" of resistance literature is to write re/sistering. 313 Conclusion
This project argues that the category of "resistance literature," repeatedly invoked by critics of apartheid-era literature (Harlow 1987; DeShazer 1994; Gready 2003), has never been adequately theorized and defined. While apartheid provided a clear "struggle" to be reflected and promoted in literature, the post-apartheid sphere offers a changing view of how literature resists. Current issues are highly gendered, and emerging resistance writers are women who challenge the on-going sexism of South African society as it intersects with issues of race, class, and sexuality. Each chapter concludes that solidarity, both across races within South Africa and between South African women and transnational feminist movements, enables current race and gender-based resistance movements. Thus women must become "re/sisters" in order to become "resisters."
My introduction describes the various approaches to resistance and resistance literature taken by critics. Just as there was a plethora of conversations about "resistance literature" which lacked adequate definition, we now experience a stark turn towards
"post-resistance" literary theory in South Africa in the last few years. Ronit Frenkel and
Craig Mackenzie argue that we are in a "post-transitional" sphere of South African literature. They insist that the critical modes with which we view the literature must move away from those employed in the apartheid-era. They cite in particular Isabel Hofmeyr's article "Popular Literature in Africa: Post-Resistance Perspectives," which articulates that the dichotomous thinking that informs "resistance" literature - a duality that implies the writer is always "oppressed" and the addressee always the "oppressor" — limits the ways in which literature voices culture. This dissertation has agreed. Hofmeyr points to various 314 elements in South African literature such as "creolization" (130), depicting personal struggles such as HIV/AIDS (135), and a reformulating of traditional genres such as romance in order to highlight the struggles of the everyday (133). These are crucial to the terrain of contemporary South African literature, but there is nothing "post-resistance" about them. Hofmeyr subscribes to such a narrow view of resistance that she fails to see the ways in which the authors she studies continue to resist. They are resisting cultural imperialism and the imposition of English as a "master" language, they are resisting inscription and representation by an outsider who fails to see the complexity of the contemporary South African subject, and they are resisting the continued oppressions that circumscribe the racialized majority and women in the country. What Hofmeyr is resisting is the idea that South Africa's apartheid past must delineate and dictate what the country and its literature become in the future.
This dissertation has shown, through a representation and analysis of texts moving from the apartheid era forward, that resistance is shifting, but is still relevant. If the chronology shows us anything, it is that the politics of memory, history, and the building of the nation implore that the resistances of the past not be forgotten, but also not be frozen in time. The issues of race, language, history, and gender continue to shape the resistance efforts of activists and writers in South Africa. However, this dissertation continually insists that the battles are not fought on a grand scale. The literature discussed here demonstrates how the personal and political continue to weave an interlocking narrative of the shifting ground between power and resistance. 315 The critical moves away from "post-apartheid" and "postcolonial" towards
"post-resistance" and "post-transitional" signal a desire to foreclose the deterministic nature of the past. There is a dissonance between this position of the critics and that of the writers in South Africa (and I would suggest the postcolonial and global spheres more generally) who continue to define themselves according to the power structures that inform the "everyday" as well as the large-scale hegemonies of our contemporary moment. Some of these extend from the painful past of apartheid and colonization. Some of them arise out of the shifts in power since then - enshrining a patriarchal power structure that disappoints the women who fought for "freedom" in the country. It appears that while the critics attempt to move away from "resistance" literature, the writers continue to define their work in those terms. The recent publication of Browdy de
Hernandez's African Women Writing Resistance: An Anthology of Contemporary Voices is just one example of how the categories of "resistance literature," "women's writing," and "voice"- which are central to the discussions in this dissertation ~ continue to mark the terrain of African writing.
Although she was writing during apartheid, Gcina Mhlophe continues to enjoy widespread success and popularity in South Africa. Her resistance poetry and performance continue to resonate with audiences. Her "voice," as a specifically South
African expression of personal and political resistance, continues to reflect the "voice" of a people whose marginalization has perhaps shifted but still informs the divisions within the country. Mhlophe demonstrates that voicing one's personal experience is a very political act, particularly when that voice is silenced by the majority. Women continue to 316 be under-represented in South African literature and performance. Her work, in its blending of oral tradition and written literature, allows women to occupy new spaces in the cultural conversations that are emerging in the country. This is resistive, but it is also a profound act of re/sistering, as she inspires others to find their own "voices" through her Zanendaba storytelling workshops. Mhlophe therefore brings women's voices together in a collectivity that articulates a continued resistance to the gender-based violence, subjugation, and feminization of poverty proliferating throughout the country.
The chapter on Sindiwe Magona's work also discusses the need for collectivity in resistance efforts. Her Mother to Mother depicts collectivities between women who, due to their experiences as mothers in particular, share common ground and a common desire for a better future for their children. Her novel highlights how it is possible to draw on the past but to not be defined by it. Her novel is not "post-resistance," but it does take up how reconciliation is itself resistive in the "post-transitional" South Africa. The transnational conversation she inscribes mirrors the lived transnational conversation her novel produces; Magona and the Biehl family have joined together in rebuilding efforts since her novel's publication. This serves as a reminder that literature is not simply representational; it can have a tangible effect.
The Magona chapter argues for a societal regeneration through literature, through mothering, and through the politics of South Africa more broadly. Regeneration, the concept from Donna Haraway's work on the cyborg, provides a model for how we might conceptualize the "post-transition." Rather than eschewing the past, and the critical viewpoints that emerged from it, we can take up certain aspects of that past and meld 317 them into an eventual becoming. Regeneration is not a "reproduction," not a renewing of what was, but rather a composite of old and new components. This is how South
African literature, particularly women's literature, functions. The struggles of the past are not over, but they renew themselves as the political terrain shifts. The resistances therefore renew themselves as well. They borrow from what has been successful and adopt new tactics as necessary. These "tactics," as de Certeau would have it, come out of deterritorialized spaces and from the "everyday" experiences of the subjects that produce both the resistance and its literature.
The chapter turns on a variety of metaphors related to birth; these correspond with an image of post-apartheid South Africa, so often described as having been "born" anew.
This birthing, amidst so much death, is necessarily about regeneration - of the country but also of its subjects. Magona writes continually about the need for collectivity, and in
Mother to Mother she inscribes collectivities between women both within and outside of the country. The women who help Mandisa grieve remind us of what can be born out of compassion. The relationship the narrative produces between the mothers of a killer and his victim reminds us of the power of dialogue. Rather than the discourse of forgiveness that circumscribed the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, this is a regenerative forgiveness that comes from finding common ground in radically unequal circumstances.
Magona therefore clears a pathway for transnational feminist conversations to occur.
Women around the world experience pervasive sexism, often as a remnant of colonization itself. Women are similarly divided by class, race, location, and power.
Magona regenerates some of the possibilities for collectivity across this diversity. 318 Kagiso Lesego Molope's novels take up this regenerative impulse. The chapters move chronologically, but also thematically in terms of the issues they take up.
While Magona writes the mother, Molope writes the daughter, the girl. The chapter on girlhood explores how the construction of the girl, in South Africa and beyond it, lends itself to a particular kind of resistance. Using Derrida's ideas about "free play" as they apply to the child, and Deleuze and Guattari's understanding of how girls as "becoming," and not yet fully developed, occupy a particular place on the ever-shifting rhizome, I argue that girls are particularly poised to be re/sisters. Like the other writers in this study,
Molope is not interested in the racial struggle alone, but also in how the struggle for gender equality converges with it. Resisting for Tihelo, the protagonist of Dancing in the
Dust, is about marking the place of girls and women in "the struggle." The novel visits the apartheid era but it also maps those struggles onto the contemporary political scene.
Molope urges us to consider the under-representation of the girl in political histories of the student movement. She also gestures towards a resistance of South African heterosexism in literature, politics, and culture. Most importantly, she gives the youth of contemporary South Africa a role model; her novels are set reading in South African schools and therefore her resistance to a masculinist and white canon, which dominated her own education, happens both within and outside of her text.
The final chapter on Kopano Matlwa's Coconut articulates how contemporary
South African literature continues to resist in a globalized world. Ronit Frenkel and Craig
Mackenzie, in their "post-transitional" discussion of contemporary South African literature, suggest that the critics move from the transition to the transnational in their 319 thinking. They cite critics such as Leon de Kock who try to position South Africa within the "glocal" arena of literary and cultural production (6). Indeed, South African literary study has paralleled critical thinking more broadly in terms of how the local and the global coalesce in contemporary texts.
My chapter articulates how Kopano Matlwa's Coconut situates hybridity (the
"black" on the outside but "white" on the inside young South African) within the realm of both this local/global and the cosmopolitan. The "coconut" identity speaks to a rising cosmopolitan subject within both South African literature and the culture it represents.
Cosmopolitanism is, perhaps problematically, tied to class. It is a privileged subject who can occupy the space and border crossings necessary to become a "citizen of the world."
Conversations about how the local meets the global help to engender cosmopolitanism as an ethic of understanding that can apply to those who do not move between borders so freely. However the fact remains that whenever Appiah, on whose work I draw in this chapter, or others, discuss cosmopolitanism they are typically identifying a racialized or postcolonial group which has ascended in class.
The chapter explores some of the problems of consumerist capitalism that tend to accompany this cosmopolitanism. However, I am also continually mindful that for so long in South Africa, as elsewhere, race was an absolute determinant and signifier of class. Although cosmopolitanism is imperfect, it seems to me equally problematic to bemoan the class ascension of marginalized groups; this is a criticism which comes, typically, from a privileged position. The chapter therefore analyzes the "coconut" as a contravention of the "don't ever change" mentality that would limit black South Africans 320 to a dubious "authentic" identity which would, in effect, ensure their continued poverty. The chapter explores how race and language are hybridized by "coconut cosmopolitanism." This hybridizing applies to the distance between the local and the global as well.
Critics are very interested in how the local and the global meet, situate, and define the figure of the cosmopolitan. Achille Mbembe is an example of a theorist whose work is moving from the realm of the "postcolonial" to that of the "cosmopolitan." His On the
Postcolony is an important book on the postcolonial African subject. He gestures away from nativism and towards a plurality of local African cultures within a broader African and global cultural frame. His more recent work on the "Afropolitan" marks a shift even further towards a "glocal" African subject. He argues that Africa has made such a mark on the world through its resources, its cultural output, and the migrations of its people, that "Africa" in fact must be defined beyond its own borders. Similarly, the world has influenced African culture. The African is inevitably an "Afropolitan" and arguments to the contrary, he suggests, subscribe to colonial ideas of fixity that serve to disempower
African growth. These ideas correspond with the type of "coconut cosmopolitan" subjectivity that my chapter puts forth. To occupy the space of the cosmopolitan is to resist the colonial fixity against which Mbembe writes. Matlwa's characters show how women are negotiating with an Afropolitan subjectivity and how, in doing so, they create their own paradigms and practices towards positive change for themselves and other
South Africans. In articulating how the local meets the global, and how the shift from
"postcolonial" to "global" obsesses current criticism, this chapter also indicates how the 321 South African resistance literature discussed here might provide models for how resistance literature and re/sistering are emerging in other global spaces as well.
Resistance literature is taking new shapes and new directions as a result of the hybridizing, creolizing, cosmopolitanizing, and Afropolitanizing of the South African characters discussed in many of the chapters.
While each chapter marks a different territory of resistance, certain commonalities can be found across them all. Although my chapter on Molope's work delves into girlhood most deeply, each of the chapters inscribes girlhood in South Africa as a site of resistance. Gcina Mhlophe's Zandile depicts the life of a young girl as she grows into a young woman. Through her Mhlophe makes claims about the harshness of everyday life for girls. Zandile resists ongoing gender oppression as well as the under-representation of the woman and girl. Mother to Mother represents a fictionalized Amy Biehl whose work as a white, American, young woman for peace and democracy in South Africa signifies resistance and also transnational cooperation. Molope gives us Tihelo as a resistance to the stereotype of both the freedom fighter and the girl. Coconut features two young women as protagonists whose class differences separate them despite their other similarities. The resistance these texts inscribe is to the changing face of racist-classism in South Africa, as well as to the position of women as they try to negotiate that complex terrain. Girls and young women take up space in this dissertation and in the literature it analyzes as resisters and re/sisters. If my project's whole is greater than the sum of its parts it is in part because of the ways in which the girl provides a figure of hope for the future. These girls are seeking alliances between women both in South Africa and 322 globally. As such they mark the terrain for new possibilities for transnational feminist work.
Other similarities across the chapters include a focus on the "everyday" and the
"ordinary" as the spaces in which resistance occurs. Each chapter mentions de Certeau's
"everyday" and Ndebele's "ordinary," thus mapping out the transition, after the South
African transition, from large-scale resistance politics to a resistance-at-home approach.
Both before and after overthrowing the apartheid aggressors, South Africans have had to wrestle with how to improve their individual lives. These improvements occur within broader social movements, and relate of course to broader systems of power and control, but they point to a more grassroots approach. The "post-resistance" critics above are perhaps sidelining the everyday resistances that make up the texture of so many South
African lives. Resistance may be more nebulous once it is more dispersed, but that does not necessarily indicate its inefficacy.
De Certeau comments that the dispersal of resistance is in fact necessary. His
"tactics" versus "strategies" theorizes how space affects power. Tactics are rootless while strategies are tied to a particular location. Each chapter attends to the tactics of resistance, but also to their geographies. Space is a huge concern throughout each chapter. Mhlophe pays attention to the differences in urban and rural living, to how both create problems for black women, but also to how space and identity merge differently in each setting.
The chapter also discusses how theatre can "unsettle" the space of the colonizer. Magona makes clear that the dislocations arising out of the "relocations" of black South Africans to impoverished townships are directly responsible for the violence that has emerged 323 there. Molope presents the student organization's house as a hybrid space where
Tihelo struggles against the sexism of her movement and the broader apartheid institutions as well. In this chapter theories of "geographies of girlhood" are also explored. Girls who have nowhere to go or nowhere to feel safe are sometimes propelled into resistance. They have to carve out spaces for themselves and learn to take up space in ways that contravene their upbringing and reformulate girlhood subjectivity. This applies to Coconut as well. In addition to the space for girlhood, the chapter on Matlwa's novel explores how local and global spaces merge and converge. It is fitting that geography be central in a project on South African literature. Land claims continue to be one of the most complex features of on-going resistance. The "informal settlements" in which many South Africans live continue to spatially represent lasting racial inequality.
And the ongoing divisions between "white" and "black" areas of the country suggest that
"apartness" is not so much a thing of the past, although this continues to change as well.
One of the metaphors this dissertation comes back to again and again is the bridge.
Despite the various "locations" discussed in each chapter, the re/sisters look for ways to bridge the gaps between the races, classes, sexes, and between South Africa and its larger world. The "bridging" work of the re/sisters is what continues to deliver the promise of change.
The last important similarity that "bridges" the chapters themselves is hopefulness. The writers studied here are aware of how bleak South Africa can appear.
While these texts depict violence, crime, sexism, racism, loss, pain, and trauma, they simultaneously depict the overcoming of all these. Sometimes the most powerful 324 resistance is to resist despair. The re/sisters in each chapter continue to reach towards one another and towards their common goals. Change in South Africa has been slow, incomplete, and rife with problems. But even while critics are calling for a "post- resistance" and "post-transition" mode of thinking about South Africa, activists and writers are encouraging a continued focus on transitioning to a more fair society and resisting the inequities which continue. Each of the writers in this study inscribes how women's collectivity enables resistance work. These collectivities have been severed by the painful pasts of colonization, apartheid, and exclusionary feminism. But women are finding their way back to one another and joining in common struggle. This is partly out of necessity, and through the strength that comes with numbers. It is partly a response to a more globalized world which gives rise to globalized networks of resistance. But it is also, hopefully and more optimistically, a sign that transcendence, forgiveness, and change are possible. It has always appeared to me, as an activist and an academic, that process is often just as important as product. The re/sisters in the literature depicted here find they need each other, and so they find ways of forging collectivity without erasing the differences that exist between them. And this mirrors the change they work for in the larger social sphere.
This project began with an interest in resistance but it unexpectedly became as much a treatise on hope. In the chapter on Mhlophe, I describe the hope inspired for some by the TRC, and how Mhlophe's work mirrors that hope. Her work on "voice" suggests that empowerment is always-already within, and that it can be used towards societal change. Such a change, or regeneration, is what Magona inscribes as she constructs 325 characters who find ways to survive the unimaginable loss of their children. Children themselves are symbols of hope, and Molope's girl freedom fighter encapsulates the power that can emerge out of a desire for a better future. Matlwa portrays an uncertain future, but inscribes a narrative of hope through "coconut" cosmopolitanism that encourages melange and transformation to enable hybrid subjects to be fully who they are. The word hope appears in all sections of this project. It is the anchor for the resistive work the texts perform, and it is the source of connection between the characters I analyze and the writers who create them.
Re/sistering is both a means to an end and an end in itself; it is a tactic for producing large-scale change, but collectivity itself can also be an important change in the lives of individuals. Such a re/sistering depends on hope: it both provides the impetus to form collectivities arising out of a belief that change is possible, and it is inspired by those collectivities as women find that solidarity is sometimes its own benefit and reward.
The hopefulness of re/sistering has inspired me as a reader and critic. Much of the South
African fiction which receives critical acclaim is bleak and hopeless. Its subject is often a
South Africa whose reconciliation efforts have failed. The writers in this study do not shy away from the harsh realities of South African life, as some of the proponents of
"reconciliation" or "the rainbow nation" do, but neither do they succumb to despair. The balance they strike between depicting ongoing difficulties while also depicting their overcoming provides an inspiring model for how genuine reconciliation may be fostered.
Reconciliation is not about forgiveness; to reconcile is to accept imperfection and work with it towards peace. The women in these texts work with the tools they have. They 326 achieve gains, if slowly. They form alliances, if carefully. They create better and healthier lives for themselves, if partially. There are no easy answers in these texts; there will always be inequities to resist and sufferings to overcome. But the writers in this study provide examples of how to approach our struggles with grace and dignity and, above all, how to keep fighting. The inspiring nature of these texts matters in particular because writers create "resistance literature" but readers reify it. It is up to us to put the lessons of these texts into action. But to do so requires that we not slip into our own despair. So often our world is overwhelmingly cynical and precarious. It is my observation that there is a global desperation for inspiration. The literature of re/sistering emerging in South Africa provides a model for ongoing struggle and continued hope. It is here that its value as resistance literature is perhaps most acute. The re/sister is making her mark on both the literary and political landscapes that inform, comprise, and continue to redefine the genre. 327 Works Cited
"A More Gentle Zandile Goes Back to Mama." Weekly Mail [Johannesburg] 16 July
1987: 23. Print.
Aapola, Sinikka, Marina Gonick, and Anita Harris, eds. Young Femininity: Girlhood,
Power and Social Change. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Print.
Abley, Mark. Spoken Here: Travels Among Threatened Languages. Toronto: Random
House Canada, 2003. Print.
Achebe, Chinua. "English and the African Writer." Transition 18 (1965): 27 - 30. Print.
Agamben, Giorgio. Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Palo Alto: Stanford
UP, 1998. Print.
—. Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive. Trans. Daniel Heller-Roazen.
New York: Zone Books, 1999. Print.
Agenda Journal: Girlhood in Southern Africa. Ed. Levenne Gething. 79 (2009): 1 -107.
Developmentagenda.com Web. 10 Sept. 2010.
Allen, Lara. "Music and Politics in South Africa." Social Dynamics 30:2 (2004):1-19.
Informaworld. Web. 12 Oct. 2010.
Alvarez-Pereyre, Jacques. The Poetry of Commitment in South Africa. Trans. Clive
Wake. London: Heinemann, 1984. Print.
Amandla! A Revolution in Four Part Harmony. Dir. Lee Hirsch. ATO Pictures, 2002.
Film.
Amy Biehl Foundation website: www.amybiehl.org. Web. November 20,2010.
Anievas Gamallo, Isabel C. "Subversive Storytelling: The Construction of Lesbian Girlhood Through Fantasy and Fairy Tale in Jeanette Winterson's Oranges
Are Not the Only Fruit.''' The Girl: Constructions of the Girl in Contemporary
Fiction by Women. Ed. Ruth O. Saxton. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999.119
-134. Print.
Anzaldua, Gloria. Borderlands: The New Mestizo = La Frontera. 3rd ed. San Francisco:
Aunt Lute Books, 2007. Print.
—, and Ana Louise Keating. This Bridge We Call Home: Radical Visions for
Transformation. New York: Routledge, 2002. Print.
Appadurai, Aijun, ed. Globalization. Durham: Duke UP, 2001. Print.
—. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. Vol. 1. Minneapolis: U of
Minnesota P, 1996. Print.
Appiah, Anthony. "Against National Culture." English In Africa 23.1 (1996): 11 - 27.
Print.
—. Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers. New York: W.W. Norton, 2006.
Print.
—. "Cosmopolitan Reading." Cosmopolitan Geographies: New Locations in Literature
and Culture. Ed. Vinay Dharwadker. New York: Routledge, 2001. 197 - 227.
Print.
Aravamudan, Srinivas. Tropicopolitans: Colonialism and Agency, 1688-1804. Durham,
N.C.: Duke UP, 1999. Print.
Arndt, Susan. "African Gender Trouble and African Womanism: An Interview with
Chikwenye Ogunyemi and Wanjira Muthoni." Signs: The Journal of Women in Culture and Society 25.3 (2000): 709 - 730. Print.
Ashcroft, Bill. Postcolonial Transformation. New York: Routledge, 2001. Print.
—, et al., eds. The Empire Writes Back. London: Routledge, 1994. Print.
Attree, Lizzy. "Crossing Borders in Literature - Conceptions of Plague and Apocalypse
in AIDS Fiction from Zimbabwe and South Africa." Forging the Local and the
Global: Proceedings of the Association for University English Teachers of South
Africa, 9-12 July 2006. Stellenbosch: African Sun Media, 2006. 13- 22. Print.
Attwell, David, Barbara Harlow, and Joan Attwell. "Interview with Sindiwe Magona."
MFS: Modern Fiction Studies 46.1 (2000): 282 - 295. Print.
Austin, J.L. How to do Things with Words: The William James Lectures delivered at
Harvard University in 1955. Ed. J. O. Urmson. Oxford: Clarendon, 1962. Print.
Ba Mariama. So Long a Letter. Trans. Modupe Bode-Thomas. Johannesburg:
Heinemann, 1980. Print.
Baiada, Christa. "On Women, Bodies, and Nation: Feminist Critique and Revision in
Zoe Wicomb's David's Story." African Studies 67.1 (2008): 33 - 47.
Informaworld. Web. 15 Nov. 2009.
Ballinger, Robin. "Sounds of Resistance." Sounding-Off: Music as Subversion/
Resistance/ Revolution. Eds. Ron Sakolsky and Fred Wei-Han Ho. New York:
Autonomedia, 1996. 13-28. Print.
Banfield, William C. "Some Aesthetic Suggestions for a Working Theory of the
'Undeniable Groove': How Do We Speak about Black Rhythm, Setting Text, and 330 Composition?" This is How We Flow: Rhythm in Black Cultures. Ed. Angela
M. S. Nelson. Columbia: U of South Carolina P, 1999. 32 - 62. Print.
Barrett, Jane, et al. South African Women on the Move. London: Zed Books, 1985. Print.
Basu, Amrita. "Globalizing Local Women's Movements." Localizing Knowledge in a
Globalizing World: Recasting the Area Studies Debate. Eds. Mirsepassi et al.
Syracuse: Syracuse UP, 2003. 82 - 100. Print.
Behn, Aphra. Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister. Ed. Janet Todd. New
York: Penguin Classics, 1996. Print.
Bertani, Mauro, and Alessandro Fontana. "Situating the Lectures." Society Must Be
Defended: Lectures at the College de France, 1975 -1975. Eds. Mauro Bertani
and Alessandro Fontana. New York: Picador, 2003. 273- 294. Print.
Bethlehem, Louise. Skin Tight: Apartheid Literary Culture and its Aftermath. Pretoria: U
of South Africa P, 2006. Print.
Bettis, Pamela J., and Natalie G. Adams. Geographies of Girlhood: Identities In-
Between. Mahwah, N.J.: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2005. Print.
Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge, 1994. Print.
Bizzini, Silvia Caporale. "Writing as a Practice of Resistance: Motherhood, Identity, and
Representation." From the Personal to the Political: Toward a New Theory of
Maternal Narrative. Eds. Andrea O'Reilly and Silvia Caporale Bizzini.
Selinsgrove: Susquehanna UP, 2009. 37 - 48. Print. 331 Blumberg, Marcia. "Revaluing Women's Storytelling in South African Theatre."
South African Theatre as/and Intervention. Eds. Marcia Blumberg and Dennis
Walder. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1999. 137-146. Print.
—, and Dennis Walder, eds. South African Theatre as/and Intervention. Amsterdam:
Rodopi, 1999. Print.
Boal, Augusto. Theater of the Oppressed. 2nd ed. Trans. Emily Fryer. London: Pluto
Press, 2000. Print.
Boon, Joseph A. "Sex/Race Wars on the Frontier: Homosexuality and Colonialism in The
Golden Notebook." Imperial Desire: Dissident Sexualities and Colonial
Literature. Eds. Philip Holden and Richard J. Ruppel. Minneapolis: U of
Minnesota P, 2003.261 - 294. Print.
Bowker, Richard, and Peter Makurube. "From Protest to Praise." Mail and Guardian
Online [Johannesburg] 30 Oct. 1998: n pag. Web. 10 Oct. 2010.
Boyce Davies, Carol. "Mother Right/Write Revisited: Beloved and Dessa Rose and the
Construction of Motherhood in Black Women's Fiction." Narrating Mothers:
Theorizing Maternal Subjectivities. Eds. Brenda O. Daly and Maureen T. Reddy.
Knoxville: U of Tennessee P, 1991.44 - 57. Print.
Bozzoli, Belinda. Theatres of Struggle and the End of Apartheid. Athens, Ohio: Ohio UP,
2004. Print.
Bracke, Sarah. "Different Worlds Possible: Feminist Yearnings for Shared Futures." The
Future of Women's Rights: Global Visions and Strategies. Eds. Joanna Kerr et al.
New York: Zed Books, 2004. 97 - 115. Print. 332 Brathwaite, Kamau. The Development of Creole Society in Jamaica, 1770-1820.
Kingston, Jamaica: Ian Randle, 2005. Print.
Brecht, Bertolt. Brecht on Theatre: The Development of an Aesthetic. Ed. and Trans. John
Willett. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1964. Print.
—. The Good Person ofSzechwan. Trans. John Willett. Eds. Tom Kuhn and Charlotte
Ryland. Methuen Drama, 1999. Print.
Breckenridge, Carol A., et al., eds. Cosmopolitanism. Durham: Duke UP, 2002. Print.
Breitinger, Eckhard. "The German Presence in New South African Theatre." South
African Theatre as/and Intervention. Eds. Marcia Blumberg and Dennis Walder.
Amsterdam, Rodopi, 1999.207- 216. Print.
Brodzki, Bella, and Celeste Marguerite Schenck, eds. Life/Lines: Theorizing Women's
Autobiography. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1988. Print.
Brooks, Pamela E. Boycotts, Buses, and Passes: Black Women's Resistance in the U.S.
and South Africa. Amherst: U of Massachusetts P, 2008. Print.
Browdy de Hernandez, Jennifer, et al. African Women Writing Resistance: An Anthology
of Contemporary Voices. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 2010. Print.
Brown, Duncan, ed. Oral Literature and Performance in Southern Africa. Oxford: James
Currey, 1999. Print.
—. Voicing the Text: South African Oral Poetry and Performance. Oxford: OUP, 1999.
Print.
Butler, Judith. Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of 'SexNew York:
Routledge, 1993. Print. 333 —. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge,
1999. Print.
—. "Passing, Queering: Nella Larsen's Psychoanalytic Challenge." Bodies that Matter:
On the Discursive Limits of 'Sex'. New York: Routledge, 1993. 167 - 186. Print.
—, and Gayatri Chavravorty Spivak. Who Sings the Nation-State: Language, Politics,
Belonging. Kolkata: Seagull Books, 2007. Print.
Byrne, Deirdre. "A Different Kind of Resistance: An Overview of South African Black
Women's Writing." Unisa English Studies 32.2 (1994): 22-26. Print.
Cadman, Deborah. "When the Back Door is Closed and the Front Yard is Dangerous:
The Space of Girlhood in Toni Morrison's Fiction." The Girl: Constructions of
the Girl in Contemporary Fiction by Women. Ed. Ruth O. Saxton. New York: St.
Martin's Press, 1999. 57 - 78. Print.
Campbell, John. "The Power of Simple, Ordinary Real Life." Weekly Mail
[Johannesburg] 14 Feb. 1986: 23. Print.
Carr, Stuart. Globalization and Culture at Work: Explaining their Combined Glocality.
Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2005. Print.
Caruth, Cathy. Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History. Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins UP, 1996. Print.
Chapman, Michael. "To be a Cosmopolitan: Lewis Nkosi and Breyten Breytenbach."
Journal of Literary Studies 22.3 (2006): 345 - 357. Web. 4 February 2010.
Cheah, Pheng. "What is a World? On World Literature as World-Making Activity."
Daedalus 137.3. (2008): 26-39. Print. 334 —, and Bruce Robbins, eds. Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling Beyond the Nation.
Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1998. Print.
Chinweizu, Onsucheka J., and Ihechukwu Madubuike. Toward the Decolonization of
African Literature. Washington, D.C.: Howard UP, 1983. Print.
Chudhuri, Una. Staging Place: The Geography of Modern Drama. Theater:
Theory/Text/Performance Series. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1995. Print.
Cixous, Helene. "Coming to Writing." Coming to Writing and Other Essays. Ed. Deborah
Jenson. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1991.1 - 58. Print.
Clayton, Cherry, ed. Women and Writing in South Africa: A Critical Anthology.
Marshalltown: Heinemann Southern Africa, 1989. Print.
Clifford, James. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century.
Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1997. Print.
Cock, Jacklyn. '"Another Mother for Peace': Women and Peace Building in South
Africa, 1983 - 2003." Women in South African History: Basus'iimbokodo,
bawel'imilambo / They Remove Boulders and Cross Rivers. Ed. Nomboniso Gasa.
Cape Town: HSRC Press, 2007. 257 - 280. Print.
—. Maids and Madams: A Study in the Politics of Exploitation. Johannesburg: Ravan
Press, 1980. Print.
—. Women and War in South Africa. Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 1993. Print.
Cohen-Cruz, Jan. "Notes Toward an Unwritten History of Anti-Apartheid Street
Performance." Radical Street Performance: An International Anthology. Ed. Jan
Cohen-Cruz. London: Routledge, 1998.283 - 288. Print. 335 Coombes, Annie E., and Avtar Brah. Hybridity and its Discontents: Politics, Science,
Culture. New York: Routledge, 2000. Print.
Coplan, David. "Dialectics of Tradition in South African Black Popular Theatre."
Critical Arts 4.3 (1987): 5 - 25. Print.
Coullie, Judith. "(Incontinent I-lands: Blurring the Boundaries between Self and Other in
South African Women's Autobiographies." ARIEL: A Review of International
English Literature 27.1 (1996): 133 - 148. Print.
Coulter, Chris, Mariam Persson, and Mats Utas. Young Female Fighters in African Wars:
Conflict and its Consequences. Uppsala: Nordic Africa Institute, 2008. Print.
Cowden Clarke, Mary. The Girlhood of Shakespeare's Heroines. London: Bickers and
Son, 1880. Print.
Cries of Freedom: Women in Detention in South Africa. London, CIRR, originally
published as A Woman's Place is in the Struggle, not Behind Bars by
DPS/Descom, Johannesburg, 1988. Print
Critical Arts 24.1 (2010): 1 - 172. Taylor and Francis. Web. 13 March 2010.
Curry, Renee R. "'I Ain't No FRIGGIN' LITTLE WIMP': The Girl T Narrator in
Contemporary Fiction." The Girl: Constructions of the Girl in Contemporary
Fiction by Women. Ed. Ruth O. Saxton. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999. 95 -
106. Print.
Daly, Brenda O., and Maureen T. Reddy. Narrating Mothers: Theorizing Maternal
Subjectivities. Knoxville: U of Tennessee P, 1991. Print. 336 Davidson, Arnold I. "Introduction." Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the
College de France, 1975 -1975. Eds. Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana.
New York: Picador, 2003. xv - xxiii. Print.
Davidson, Harriet. "Poetry, Witness, Feminism." Witness and Memory: Discourse of
Trauma. Eds. Ana Douglass and Thomas A. Vogler. New York: Routledge, 2003.
153- 172. Print.
Davis, Geoffrey G., and Anne Fuchs, eds. Theatre and Change in South Africa.
Amsterdam: Overseas Publishers Association, 1996. Print.
Daymond, Margaret J. "Gender and 'History': 1980s Short Stories by Women." ARIEL:
A Review of International English Literature 27.1 (1996): 191 - 213. Print.
—.South African Feminisms: Writing, Theory, and Criticism, 1990-1994. Vol.1827.
New York: Garland, 1996. Print.
De Certeau, Michel. Heterologies: Discourses on the Other. Theory and History of
Literature Series, Vol. 17. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P,
1986. Print.
—. The Mystic Fable. Vol. 1, The Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Trans. Michael B.
Smith. Chicago: U Chicago P, 1992. Print.
—. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: U California P,
1984. Print.
—. The Writing of History. New European Perspectives series. Trans. Tom Conley. New
York: Columbia UP, 1988. Print.
De Kock, Leon, Louise Bethlehem, and Sonja Laden. "South Africa in the Global Imaginary." Poetics Today 22:2 (2001): 263-550. Project Muse. Web. 04
April 2010.
De Kok, Ingrid. "Small Passing." Seasonal Fires: New and Selected Poems. New York:
Seven Stories Press, 2006. 51 -53. Print.
De Lauretis, Teresa. The Practice of Love: Lesbian Sexuality and Perverse Desire.
Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1994. Print.
De Waal, Shaun. "1000 Forms of Love: Representations of Homosexuality in South
African Literature." Defiant Desire: Gay and Lesbian Lives in South Africa. Eds.
Mark Gevisser and Edwin Cameron. New York: Routledge, 1995.232 - 245. Print.
Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari.Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1983. Print.
—. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi.
Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1987. Print.
Denman, Flannery Patrick, and Andrew van der Vlies. "Introduction: Annexing the
Global, Globalizing the Local." Scrutiny2 13.1 (2008): 5-19. Taylor and Francis
Journals. Web. 14 Mar. 2010.
Derrida, Jacques. Margins of Philosophy. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P,
1982. Print.
—. "Racism's Last Word [Le Dernier Mot de Racisme]." Trans. Peggy Kamuf. Critical
Inquiry 13 (1986): 186. Print.
—. "Signature, Event, Context." Margins of Philosophy. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of
Chicago P, 1982. 307 - 330. Print. 338 —. "Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences." Writing and
Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980.278 - 95. Print.
—. "White Mythology: Metaphor in the Text of Philosophy." Margins of Philosophy.
Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1982. 207 - 271. Print.
—. Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1980. Print.
—, Mark Dooley, and Michael Hughes. On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness. New
York: Routledge, 2001. Print.
DeShazer, Mary, K. A Poetics of Resistance: Women Writing in El Salvador, South
Africa, and the United States. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1994. Print.
Dharwadkar, Vinay, ed. Cosmopolitan Geographies: New Locations in Literature and
Culture. New York: Routledge, 2001. Print.
Diamond, Elin. Unmaking Mimesis: Essays on Feminism and Theater. New York:
Routledge, 1997. Print.
Diamond, Irene, and Lee Quinby. Feminism & Foucault: Reflections on Resistance.
Boston: Northeastern UP, 1988. Print.
Dirlik, Arif. Global Modernity: Modernity in the Age of Global Capitalism. Boulder:
Paradigm, 2007. Print.
—. The Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism.
Oxford: Westview Press, 1997. Print.
—. "The Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism."
Critical Inquiry 20.2 (1994): 328 - 356. JSTOR. Web. 21 Feb 2010. 339 Dlamini, Victor. "Interview with Kopano Matlwa." The Victor Dlamini Literary
Podcast. May 5 2008. Web. May 10,2008.
Donkin, Ellen, and Susan Clement. Upstaging Big Daddy: Directing Theater as if Race
and Gender Matter. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1993. Print.
Douglass, Ana, and Thomas A. Vogler, eds. Witness and Memory: The Discourse of
Trauma. New York: Columbia UP, 1988. Print.
Driscoll, Catherine. Girls: Feminine Adolescence in Popular Culture and Cultural
Theory. New York: Columbia UP, 2002. Print.
—. "Girls Today: Girls, Girl Culture and Girlhood Studies." Girlhood Studies: An
Interdisciplinary Journal 1.1 (2007): 13-22. Print.
Driver, Dorothy. "Drum Magazine (1951-9) and the Spatial Configurations of Gender."
Text, Theory, Space: Land, Literature and History in South Africa and Australia.
Eds. Elizabeth Gunner and Sarah Nuttall. New York: Routledge, 1996. 231 - 242.
Print.
—. "M'a Ngoana O Tsoare Thpa ka Bohaleng - The Child's Mother Grabs the Sharp End
of the Knife: Women as Mothers, Women as Writers." Rendering Things Visible:
Essays on South African Literary Culture. Ed. Martin Trump. Athens: Ohio UP,
1990. 232-245. Print.
Drucker, Peter, ed. Different Rainbows. London: Gay Men's Press, 2001. Print.
Duiker, Sello K. Thirteen Cents. Claremont, South Africa: David Philip, 2005. Print.
Eakin, Paul John. How Our Lives Become Stories: Making Selves. Ithaca: Cornell UP,
1999. Print. The Economist. "The President Says it has Failed; South Africa's Black
Empowerment." 3 Apr. 2010: 37. Academic OneFile. Web. 11 May 2010.
Edelman, Lee. Homographesis: Essays in Gay Literary and Cultural Theory. New York:
Routledge, 1994. Print.
Esterhuyse, Willie. "Broad-based Black Economic Empowerment and the Deracialization
of the South African Economy." Peace through Commerce: Responsible
Corporate Citizenship and the Ideals of the United Nations Global Compact. Ed.
Oliver F. Williams. Notre Dame, Indiana: U of Notre Dame P, 2008. 50 - 72.
Print.
Esquibel, Catriona Rueda. "Memories of Girlhood: Chicana Lesbian Fictions" Signs:
Journal of Women and Culture in Society 23.3 (1998): 645 - 682. JSTOR. Web.
15 Nov. 2009.
Fanon, Frantz. Black Skin, White Masks. New York: Grove Press, 1967. Print.
February, Vernie A. Mind Your Colour: The 'Coloured' Stereotype in South African
Literature. London: Kegan Paul International Ltd., 1981. Print.
Felman, Shoshana, and Dori Laub. Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature,
Psychoanalysis, and History. London: Routledge, 1992. Print.
Fester, Gertrude. "Merely Mothers Perpetuating Patriarchy? Women's Grassroots
Organizations in the Western Cape 1980 - 1990." (Un)thinking Citizenship:
Feminist Debates in Contemporary South Africa. Ed. Amanda Gouws.
Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2005.199-219. Print. 341 Firestone, Shulamith, and Anne Koedt, eds. Notes from the Second Year: Women's
Liberation. Pamphlet. 1970.
Flockemann, Miki. "Gcina Mhlophe's Have You Seen Zandile?: English or english? The
Situation of Drama in Literature and Language Departments in the Emergent
Post-Apartheid South Africa." South African Theatre Journal 5.2 (1991): 40 - 54.
Print.
Fludernik, Monika. "Cross-Mirrorings of Alterity: The Colonial Scenario and its
Psychological Legacy." Linked Histories: Postcolonial Studies in a Globalized
World. Eds. Pamela McCallum and Wendy Faith. Calgary: U of Calgary P, 2005.
63-90. Print.
"Focus on the 'Sugar Daddy' Phenomenon "IRIN. 24 July 2003. UN Integrated Regional
Information Networks/All Africa Global Media via COMTEX. Web. 20 April
2010.
Foot Newton, Lara. Tshepang: The Third Testament. London: Oberon Books, 2005.
Print.
Forging the Local and the Global: Proceedings of the AUETSA, SAVAL and SAACLALS
Annual Combined Conference 9-12 July 2006. Stellenbosch, South Africa:
Department of English, Stellenbosch, 2006. Print.
Foucault, Michel. "Friendship as a way of life." The Essential Works ofFoucault 1954-
1984, Volume One - Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth. Trans. Robert Hurley. Ed.
Paul Rabinow. New York: The New Press, 1997. 135-140. Print.
—. The History of Sexuality. New York: Vintage Books, 1990. Print. 342 —. "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History." Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected
Essays and Interviews. Ed. D. F. Bouchard. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1977. 139-164.
Print.
—. Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the College de France, 1975 - 1975. Trans.
David Macey. New York: Picador, 2003. Print.
Francis, Stephen, and Rico Schacherl. "Madam and Eve." Comic strip. Mail and
Guardian.
Frenkel, Ronit, and Craig Mackenzie. "Conceptualizing 'Post-Transitional' South
African Literature in English." English Studies in Africa 53.1 (2010): 1 - 10.
Taylor and Francis. Web. 25 April, 2011.
Freud, Sigmund. On Sexuality: Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality and Other
Works. Trans. James Strachey. Ed. Angela Richards. New York: Penguin, 1991.
Print.
—. "Taboo of Virginity." On Sexuality: Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality and
Other Works. Trans. James Strachey. Ed. Angela Richards. New York: Penguin,
1991. 265-290. Print.
—. Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality. New York: Basic Books, 2000. Print.
Friedman, Susan Stanford. "'Beyond' Gynocriticism and Gynesis: The Geographies of
Identity and the Future of Feminist Criticism." Tulsa Studies in Women's
Literature 15.1 (1996): 13-41. Project Muse. Web. 08 Feb. 2010.
Fuss, Diana. Essentially Speaking: Feminism, Nature and Difference. New York:
Routledge, 1989. Print. 343 Gaitskell D., and E. Unterhalter. "Mother of the Nation: A Comparative Analysis of
Nation, Race and Motherhood in Afrikaner Nationalism and the ANC." Woman-
Nation-State. Eds. N. Yuval-Davis and F. Anthias. London: Palgrave Macmillan,
1989. 58-78. Print.
Gale, Maggie Barbara, and Vivien Gardner, eds. Women, Theatre and Performance: New
Histories, New Historiographies. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2000. Print.
Gasa, Nomboniso. "Feminisms, Motherisms, Patriarchies and Women's Voices in the
1950s." Women in South African History: Basus'iimbokodo, bawel'imilambo /
They Remove Boulders and Cross Rivers. Ed. Nomboniso Gasa. Cape Town:
HSRC Press, 2007. 207 - 232. Print.
Gates Jr., Henry Louis. "Writing 'Race' and the Difference it Makes." 'Race,' Writing
and Difference. Eds. Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Kwame Anthony Appiah.
Chicago: Chicago UP, 1992. 1 - 20. Print.
Gevisser, Mark. "A Different Fight for Freedom: A History of South African Lesbian and
Gay Organisation from the 1950s to 1990s." Defiant Desire: Gay and Lesbian
Lives in South Africa. Eds. Mark Gevisser and Edwin Cameron. New York:
Routledge, 1995.14-29. Print.
Gilbert, Helen, and Joanne Tompkins. Post-Colonial Drama: Theory, Practice, Politics.
New York: Routledge, 1996. Print.
Gilmore, Leigh. Autobiographies: A Feminist Theory of Women's Self-Representation.
Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1999. Print.
Girlhood Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal. Eds. Claudia Mitchell and Jacqueline Reid-Walsh. Berghahn. 1 - 3 (2008 - 2010). Print.
Goetsch, Paul. "Passing in South African Literature." Intercultural Encounters: Studies
in English Literatures. Eds. Anton Heinz and Kevin Cope. Heidelberg:
Uiversitatsvweraga C Wiwce, 1999.479 - 495. Print.
Goldblatt, Beth, and Sheila Mientjes. "Gender and the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission: A Submission to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission." Truth
and Reconciliation Archive, http://www.doj.gov.za/trc/submit/gender.htm Web.
12 Feb. 2008.
Gonick, Marina. "Between 'Girl Power' and 'Reviving Ophelia': Constituting the
Neoliberal Girl." NWSA Journal 18.2 (2006): 1 - 22. Project Muse. Web. 11 Nov.
2009.
Good Woman ofSharkville. Adapted by Gcina Mhlophe and Janet Suzman. Dir. Janet
Suzman. Standard Bank National Arts Festival, Grahamstown, South Africa.
1996. Performance.
Goodman, Lizbeth. "Two Conversations with Yvonne Banning about Gender and Drama
in South African Theatre." Contemporary Theatre Review 9.2 (1999): 5 - 26.
Print.
Goodman, Msomi. "Storyteller to Honour Granny." Sunday Tribune [Johannesburg] 15
Aug. 1999: 11. Print.
Gqola, Pumla Dineo. "Forced to Think: Innovation and Womanist Traditions in Sindiwe
Magona's Wor(l)ds" Sindiwe Magona: The First Decade. Ed. Siphokazi Koyana.
Scottsville: U of KwaZulu-Natal P, 2004. 51 -66. Print. 345 —. "Reimagining the Past, Freeing the Imagination: The Works of Kagiso Lesego
Molope and Bongi Bengu." Association for University English Teachers of
Southern Africa Conference. Pretoria, SA. 23 June, 2008. Conference
Presentation.
Gray, Stephen. "Women in South African Theatre." South African Theatre Journal 4.1
(1990): 75 - 87. Print.
Gready, Paul. Writing as Resistance: Life Stories of Imprisonment, Exile, and
Homecoming from Apartheid South Africa. Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books,
2003. Print.
Grosz, Elizabeth. "Inscriptions and Body-Maps: Representations and the Corporeal."
Feminine, Masculine and Representation. Eds. Terry Threadgold and Anne
Cranny-Francis. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1990. 62 - 74. Print.
Gunner, Elizabeth. "Names and the Land: Poetry of Belonging and Unbelonging: A
Comparative Approach." Text, Theory, Space: Land, Literature and History in
South Africa and Australia. Eds. Elizabeth Gunner and Sarah Nuttall. New York:
Routledge, 1996. 115-130. Print.
—, ed. Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa.
Johannesburg: Witwatersrand UP, 2001. Print.
—. "Songs of Innocence and Experience: Women as Composers and Performers of
"Izibongo," Zulu Praise Poetry." Research in African Literatures 10.2 (1979): 239
- 267. JSTOR. Web. 21 Feb. 2009.
Hall, Stuart. "The Local and the Global: Globalization and Ethnicity." Culture, 346 Globalization and the World-System. Ed. Anthony D. King. Minneapolis: U
of Minnesota P, 1997. 19-40. Print.
—, and Paddy Whannel. The Popular Arts. London: Beacon Press, 1967. Print.
Handlarski, Denise. "Feminisms and the 'Glocal': The South African Context."
Canadian Women's Studies Association Conference. Vancouver, Canada. 24
May, 2008. Conference Presentation.
—. "Language and/as Resistance: Gcina Mhlophe's Poetry and Drama." AUETSA
Conference. Pretoria, South Africa. June 2008. Conference Presentation.
—. Unpublished Interview with Kagiso Lesego Molope. Ottawa, Ontario. 2 Dec., 2007.
—. "Women's Speaking and Silence: South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation
Commission." (Re)Interpretations: The Shapes of Justice in Women's Experience.
Eds. Laurel Peterson and Lisa Dresdner. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholar's Press,
2009.45 - 62. Print.
Hanisch, Carol. "New Introduction to 'The Personal is Political.'" www.carolhanisch.org.
2006. Web. 10 Feb. 2008.
Hannerz, Ulf. "Cosmopolitans and Locals in World Culture." Global Culture:
Nationalism, Globalization and Modernity. Ed Mike Featherstone. London: Sage
Publications, 1990.237 - 251. Print.
Haraway, Donna. "A Manifesto for Cyborgs." The Haraway Reader. New York:
Routledge, 2004. 7 - 46. Print. 347 —. "The Promises of Monsters: A Regenerative Politics for In/appropriated Others."
The Haraway Reader. New York: Routledge, 2004. 63 - 124. Print.
Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Empire. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2000. Print.
Harlow, Barbara. '"What Was She Doing There?': Women as 'Legitimate Targets'."
Women Gender and Human Rights: A Global Perspective. Ed. Maijorie Agosin.
New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2002. 267 - 282. Print.
Harlow, Barbara. Resistance Literature. New York: Methuen, 1987. Print.
Harris, Anita, ed. All About the Girl: Culture, Identity, Power. New York: Routledge,
2004. Print.
Harris, Richard, and Pat Lauderdale. "Globalization, Neo-liberalism, and Post-apartheid
South Africa." Journal of Asian and African Studies 37.3 - 5. (2002): 422 - 436.
Sage. Web. 08 Feb. 2010.
Hassim, Shireen, and Cherryl Walker. "Women's Studies and the Women's Movement in
South Africa: Defining a Relationship." Women's Studies International Forum 16.5
(1993): 523 - 534. lngentaconnect. Web. 12 Feb. 2008.
Hawley, John C., ed. Postcolonial, Queer: Theoretical Intersections. Albany: SUNY UP,
2001. Print.
Hayden, Patrick. Cosmopolitan Global Politics. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005. Print.
Heble, Ajay. Landing on the Wrong Note: Jazz, Dissonance and Critical Practice. New
York: Routledge, 2000. Print.
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, Arnold V. Miller, and J. N. Findlay. Phenomenology of 348 Spirit. 1st ed. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1998. Print.
Henke, Suzette. Shattered Subjects: Trauma and Testimony in Women's Life-Writing.
New York: St. Martin's Press, 1998. Print.
Higginbotham, Jennifer. "Fair Maids and Golden Girls: Early Modern Girlhood and the
Production of Femininity" Diss. U of Pennsylvania, 2007. Proquest Digital
Dissertations. Web. 11 Nov. 2009.
Hill-Collins, Patricia. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the
Politics of Empowerment. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990. Print.
Hiteng Ofuho, Cirino. "The Changing Images of a Continent: An Eclectic Survey of
Writings on Africa in the International System." Global Society 17.2 (2003): 151
- 164. Taylor and Francis. Web. 13 Sept. 2009.
Hofmeyr, Isabel. "Popular Literature in Africa: Post-Resistance Perspectives." Social
Dynamics 30.2 (2004): 128 - 40. Informaworld. Web. 25 April, 2011.
—. "'Wailing for Purity': Oral Studies in Southern African Studies." African Studies 54.
2(1995): 16-32. Print.
—.' We Spend Our Years as a Tale that is Told': Oral Historical Narrative in a South
African Chiefdom. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand UP, 1993. Print.
Holledge, Julie, and Joanne Tompkins. Women's Intercultural Performance. New York:
Routledge, 2000. Print. hooks, bell. Bone Black: Memories of Girlhood. New York: Henry Holt and Company,
1996. Print. 349 —. Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center. Boston: South End Press, 1984. Print.
—. Homegrown: Engaged Cultural Criticism. Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 2006.
Print.
—. Yearning: Race, Gender, and Cultural Politics. Toronto: Between the Lines, 1990.
Print.
Hughes, Langston. "Harlem [2]." The Collected Poems ofLangston Hughes. Ed. Arnold
Rampersad. New York: Vintage Books, 1994.426. Print.
I am Because We Are. Dir. Nathan Rissman, Madonna. Semtex Films, 2008. Film.
Iheduru, Okechukwu C. "Black Economic Power and Nation-Building in Post-Apartheid
South Africa." The Journal of Modern African Studies 42.1 (2004): 1 - 30. Scholars
Portal Journals. Web. 08 Feb. 2010.
Irigaray, Luce. The Speculum of the Other Woman. Trans. Gillian G. Gill. Ithaca: Cornell
UP, 1985. Print.
Isaacson, Maureen. "Molope's is no Dusty Township Saga." Rev. of Dancing in the
Dust, by Kagiso Lesego Molope. The Sunday Independent 11 July, 2004: 18.
Print.
Jackson Jr., John L., and Martha S. Jones. "Pass-ed Performances: An Introduction."
Women and Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory 15.1 (2005): 9-16.
Taylor and Francis. Web. 15 Sept. 2009. 350 Jameson, Fredric. The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act.
Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1981. Print.
—. Postmodernism, Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. Durham: Duke UP, 1991.
Print.
—, and Masao Miyoshi, eds. The Cultures of Globalization. Durham, N.C.: Duke UP,
1998. Print.
Jefferess, David. Postcolonial Resistance: Culture, Liberation, and Transformation.
Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2008. Print.
Johnson, James Weldon. The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man. Middlesex: The
Echo Library, 2009. Print.
Jordan, A.C. Towards an African Literature: The Emergence of Literary Form inXhosa.
Berkeley: U of California P, 1973. Print.
Kagan-Moore, Patrick, and Gcina Mhlophe. "The Zandile Project: A Collaboration
between UT, Carpetbag Theatre, and South African Playwright Gcina Mhlophe.
An Interview." TDR 34.1 (1990): 115 - 130. Print.
Katrak, Ketu H. Politics of the Female Body: Postcolonial Women Writers of the Third
World. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2006. Print.
Kauffman, Linda S. Discourses of Desire: Gender, Genre, and Epistolary Fictions.
Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1986. Print.
Kearney, J. A. Representing Dissension: Riot Rebellion and Resistance in the South
African Novel. Pretoria: Unisa, 2003. Print. 351 Kelley, Erica. "Strangely Tender: An Interview with Ingrid de Kok." Scrutiny2:
Issues in English Studies in Southern Africa 8.1 (2003): 34 - 38. Print.
King, Anthony D., ed. Culture, Globalization and the World-System. Minneapolis: U of
Minnesota P, 1997. Print.
Klopper, Dirk. "The Local, the Global, and the Literary Imaginary." English Academy
Review: Southern African Journal of English Studies 25.1 (2008): 1 -3. Print.
—. "Narrative Time and the Space of the Image: The Truth of the Lie in Winnie
Madikizela-Mandela's Testimony before the Truth and Reconciliation Commission."
Poetics Today 22.2 (2001): 453 - 474. Print.
Koyana, Siphokazi. '"Why are you Carrying Books? Don't you have Children?':
Revisiting Motherhood in Sindiwe Magona's Autobiographies." Sindiwe Magona:
The First Decade. Ed. Siphokazi Koyana. Scottsville: U of KwaZulu-Natal P,
2004.19-34. Print.
Krishnaswamy, Revathi, and John C. Hawley. The Postcolonial and the Global.
Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2007. Print.
Kuzwayo, Ellen. Call Me Woman. Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1985. Print.
La Trecchia, Patrizia. "Sites of Glocal Representations and Artistic Resistance: The
Neapolitan Urban Imaginary in Antonio Capuano's Sacred Silence." Studies in
European Cinema 6.1 (2009): 31 - 45. EbscoHost. Web. 10 Feb. 2010.
Lai, Ruby. "In Pursuit of Playfulness: Girl-child/Woman in Nineteenth Century India." 352 York University. 17 Sept. 2009. Address.
Lamb, Sharon, and Lyn Mikel Brown. Packaging Girlhood: Rescuing our Daughters
from Marketers' Schemes. New York: St. Martin's Griffin, 2006. Print.
Larsen, Nella. Passing. New York: Dover Publications, 2004. Print.
Lefebvre, Henri. Critique of Everyday Life Volume II: Foundations for a Sociology of the
Everyday. Trans. John Moore. London: Verso, 2002. Print.
—. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Trans. Stuart Elden. London:
Continuum, 2004. Print.
Lerer, Seth. Children's Literature: A Reader's History From Aesop to Harry Potter.
Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2008. Print.
Lewis, Desiree. "Rethinking Nationalism in Relation to Foucault's History of Sexuality
and Adrienne Rich's "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence'."
Sexualities 11.1-2 (2008): 104 - 109. Sage Publications. Web. 15 Sept., 2009.
Lionnet, Francois. "Continents and Archipelagoes: From e pluribus unum to Creolized
Solidarities." PMLA 123.5 (2008): 1503 - 1515. Print.
Livingston, Robert Eric. "Glocal Knowledges: Agency and Place in Literary Studies."
PMLA 116:1. (2008): 145-57. Modern Language Association of America. Web.
11 Feb. 2010.
Lockett, Cecily, ed. Breaking the Silence: A Century of South African Women's Poetry.
Parklands, AD.: Donker, 1990. Print. Lockett, Cecily. "Feminism(s) and Writing in English in South Africa." South African
Feminisms: Writing, Theory and Criticism 1990 -1994. Ed. M.J. Daymond. New
York: Garland, 1996. 3 - 26. Print.
Long Night's Journey Into Day. Dirs. Deborah Hoffman and Frances Reid. California
Newsreel, 2000. Film.
Magona, Sindiwe. Forced to Grow. London: Women's Press, 1992. Print.
—. Living, Loving and Lying Awake at Night. New York: Interlink Books, 1994. Print.
—. Mother to Mother. Boston: Beacon Press, 2001. Print.
—. To My Children's Children. Claremont, South Africa: D. Philip, 1990. Print.
Mail and Guardian. Special Report on the Successes and Failures of Black Economic
Empowerment. 2009. http://www.mg.co.za/specialreport/black-economic-
empowerment. Web. 10 Feb. 2010.
Mandela, Nelson. Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela.
London: Bay Back Books, 1995. Print.
Mason, Mary. "The Other Voice: Autobiographies of Women Writers." Life/Lines:
Theorizing Women's Autobiography. Eds. Bella Brodzki and Celeste Marguerite
Schenck. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1988. 19-44. Print.
Mathabane, Mark. "Lobola, AIDS and Africa." The Washington Post 27 March 2000: n.
pag. Web. 20 April 2010.
Matlwa, Kopano. Coconut: A Novel. Auckland Park, South Africa: Jacana Media Ltd.,
2007. Print. 354 Mbembe, Achille. "Afropolitanism." Africa Remix: Contemporary Art of a Continent.
Ed. Simon Njami. Johannesburg: Johannesburg Art Gallery and Jacana Media,
2007.26-30. Print.
—. On the Postcolony. Berkeley: U of California P, 2001. Print.
McClintock, Anne. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender and Sexuality in the Colonial
Contest. New York: Routledge, 1995. Print.
—, ed. Dangerous Liaisons: Gender, Nation and Postcolonial Perspectives. Minneapolis:
U of Minnesota P, 1997. Print.
—, and Rob Nixon. "No Names Apart: The Separation of Word and History in Derrida's
'Le Dernier Mot de Racisme"' Critical Inquiry 13(1986) 140 - 154. Print.
McDonald, Katrina Bell. Embracing Sisterhood: Class, Identity and Contemporary Black
Women. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield, 2007. Print.
McKinney, Carolyn. "'If I Speak English, Does it Make Me Less Black Anyway?' 'Race'
and English in South African Desegregated Schools." English Academy Review:
Southern African Journal of English Studies 24.2. (2007): 6 - 24. Print.
Mda, Zakes. "Current Trends in Theatre for Development in South Africa." Writing
South Africa: Literature, Apartheid, and Democracy. Eds. Derek Attridge and
Rosemary Jolly. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 257- 264. Print.
—. "The Pink Mountain: Landscapes and the Conception of a Literature of Public
Action." African Literature Association Conference. Burlington, Vermont. April
2009. Keynote. 355 —. "Politics and Theatre: Current Trends in South Africa." Theatre and Change in
South Africa. Eds. Geoffrey G. Davis and Anne Fuchs. Amsterdam: Overseas
Publishers Association, 1996. 193-218. Print.
Mezu, Rose Ure. "Buchi Emecheta's 'The Bride Price' and 'The Slave Girl': A
Schizoanalytic Perspective." Ariel 28.1 (1997): 131-147. Expanded Academic.
Web. 16 Sept. 2009.
Mhlophe, Gcina. Have You Seen Zandile? Pietermaritzberg: U of Natal P, 2002. Print.
—. "Have You Seen Zandile?" Black South African Women: An Anthology of Plays. Ed.
Kathy A. Perkins. New York: Routledge, 1998. 80-101. Print.
—. Love Child. Pietermaritzburg: U of Natal P, 2002. Print.
—. "Statement and interview." Black South African Women: An Anthology of Plays. Ed.
Kathy A Perkins. London: Routledge, 1998. 81 -83. Print.
—. "The Woman Inside Every Woman." Proceedings of Publisher/Writer/Reader:
Sociology and Southern African Literature. 1986. Ed. Susan Gardner.
Johannesburg: Department of Comparative Literature, University of the
Witwatersrand. Print.
—. Vukani! Cape Town: Juta Gariep, 2007. Print.
Mignolo, Walter D. "Globalization, Civilization Processes, and the Relocation of
Languages and Cultures." The Cultures of Globalization. Eds. Fredric Jameson
and Masao Miyoshi. Durham, N.C.: Duke UP, 1998. 32-53. Print. 356 Mittelman, James. "Globalization, Cosmopolitanism, and the Kantian Revival:
Commentary on David Held's 'At the Global Crossroads'." Globalizations 2.1
(2005): 114 - 116. Taylor and Francis. Web. 12 Feb. 2010.
Mohanty, Chandra Talpade. Feminism without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing
Solidarity. Durham: Duke UP, 2003. Print.
—. "Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses." Third World
Women and the Politics of Feminism. Eds. C.T. Mohanty, et al. Indiana: Indiana
UP, 1990. 51 - 80. Print.
—. "Under Western Eyes Revisited." Feminism without Borders: Decolonizing Theory,
Practicing Solidarity. Durham: Duke UP, 2003. 221 -251. Print.
Molope, Kagiso Lesego. Dancing in the Dust. Toronto: Tsar, 2002. Print.
—. The Mending Season. Oxford: OUP, 2005. Print.
Moraga, Cherrie, and Gloria Anzaldua. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical
Women of Color. 3rd ed. Berkeley, CA: Third Woman Press, 2002. Print.
Moreiras, Alberto. "Hybridity and Double Consciousness." Cultural Studies 13.3 (1999):
373-407. Print.
Moriel, Liora. "Passing and the Performance of Gender, Race, and Class Acts: A
Theoretical Framework." Women and Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory
15.1 (2005): 167-210. Taylor and Francis. Web. 13 Feb. 2010.
Morley, David, and Kevin Robins. Spaces of Identity: Global Media, Electronic
Landscapes and Cultural Boundaries. New York: Routledge, 1995. Print. 357 Motanyane, Maud. "Gcina Writing with Tears, Playing with Laughter." Tribute
(April/May 1987): 45-48. Print.
Mphahlele, Ezekiel. Voices in the Whirlwind and Other Essays. London: Macmillan,
1973. Print.
Mukherjee, Meenakshi. "The Local and the Global: Literary Implications in India."
English Studies in Africa: A Journal of the Humanities 43:2. (2000): 47-56.
Literature Online. Web. 13 Feb. 2010.
Muller, Carol. "Chakide - the Teller of Secrets: Space, Song and Story in Zulu Maskanda
Performance." Oral Literature and Performance in Southern Africa. Ed. Duncan
Brown. Oxford: James Currey, 1999.220 - 234. Print.
Mullings, Leith. "Race and Globalization: Racialization from Below." Transnational
Blackness: Navigating the Global Color Line. Eds. Manning Marable and
Vanessa Agard-Jones. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. 11 -19. Print.
Munro, Brenna. "Queer Futures: The Coming-Out Novel in South Africa." African
Literature: An Anthology of Criticism and Theory. Eds. Tejumola Olaniyan and
Ato Quayson. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007. 753 - 764. Print.
Muponde, Robert. "Girlhood Under the Tongue." Research in African Literatures 38.2
(2007): 26-49. Project Muse. Web. 15 Sept. 2009.
Mwangola, Mshai. "Telling Tales, Changing Lives." African Studies (2005): 8-9. Print.
Naipaul, V.S. The Mimic Men. London: Vintage, 2001. Print.
Nandipha, Khuthala. "Female Actors Still Looking on from the Curtains of the Stage."
City Press 24.2 (2008): 33. Print. Ndebele, Njabulo. "The English Language and Social Change in South Africa." The
English Academy Review 4.1 (1987): 1 - 16. Print.
—. Rediscovery of the Ordinary: Essays on South African Literature and Culture.
Johannesburg: COSAW, 1991. Print.
Nelson, Angela M.S., ed. This is How We Flow: Rhythm in Black Cultures. Columbia,
Nfah-Abbenyi, Juliana Makuchi. Gender in African Women's Writing: Identity, Sexuality
and Difference. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1997. Print.
Ngugi wa Thiong'o. Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African
Literature. London: Heinemann Educational Books, 1986. Print.
Ngwenya, Thengani. "Hegemony and Autobiographical Self-Representation: The Case of
Sindiwe Magona." Alter Nat ion 11.1 (2004): 131 - 150. Print.
Nkoli, Simon. "Coming out as a Black Gay Activist in South Africa." Defiant Desire:
Gay and Lesbian Lives in South Africa. Eds. Mark Gevisser and Edwin Cameron.
New York: Routledge, 1995. 249 - 281. Print.
Nnaemeka, Obiama. The Politics of (m)Othering: Womanhood, Identity, and Resistance
in African Literature. London: Routledge, 1997. Print.
Nussbaum, Felicity. "Autobiography and Postcolonialism." Current Writing: Text and
Reception in South Africa 3 (1991): 24 - 30. Print.
Nuttall, Sarah, ed. Beautiful Ugly: African and Diaspora Aesthetics. Durham, N.C.: Duke
UP, 2006. Print.
—, and Carli Coetzee, eds. Negotiating the Past: The Making of Memory in South Africa.
New York: Oxford UP, 1998. Print. 359 Nyong'o, Tavia. "Passing as Politics: Framing Black Political Performance." Women
and Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory 15.1 (2005): 53 - 78. Taylor and
Francis. Web. 15 Sept. 2009.
O' Brien, Anthony. Against Normalization: Writing Radical Democracy in South Africa.
Durham: Duke UP, 2001. Print.
O' Brien, Mary. The Politics of Reproduction. London: Routledge, 1981. Print.
O' Reilly, Andrea. "A Politics of the Heart: African-American Womanist Thought on
Mothering." Mother Outlaws: Theories and Practices of Empowered Mothering.
Ed. Andrea O'Reilly. Toronto: Women's Press, 2004. 26 - 35. Print.
—, and Silvia Caporale Bizzini, eds. From the Personal to the Political: Toward a New
Theory of Maternal Narrative. Selinsgrove: Susquehanna UP, 2009. Print.
Oboe, Analisa. "The TRC Women's Hearings as Performance and Protest in the New
South Africa." Research in African Literatures 38.3 (2007): 60 - 76. JSTOR.
Web. 11 Feb. 2007.
Ogunyemi, Chikwenye Okonjo. "The Dynamics of the Contemporary Black Female
Novel in English." Signs 11.1 (1985): 63 - 80. Print.
Ong, Walter. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. 2nd ed. New York:
Routledge, 2002. Print.
Opland, Jeff. Xhosa Oral Poetry: Aspects of a Black South African Tradition. Cambridge:
Cambridge UP, 1983. Print. Parry, Benita. "Resistance Theory/Theorising Resistance: Or, Two Cheers for
Nativism." Contemporary Postcolonial Theory: A Reader. Ed. Padmini Mongia.
London: Arnold, 1996. 84 - 109. Print.
—. "Some Provisional Speculations on the Critique of'Resistance' Literature." Altered
State? Writing and South Africa. Ed. Boehmer et al. London: Dangaroo Press,
1994. 11-24. Print.
Pathania, Sunita. "Globalization, Culture, and Gender: Some Issues." Globalization,
Culture and Women's Development. Ed. Raj Mohini Sethi. New Delhi: Rawat
Publications, 1999.191 -205. Print.
Perkins, Kathy A., ed. Black South African Women: An Anthology of Plays. Cape Town:
U of Cape Town P, 1999. Print.
Pieterse, Jan Nederveen. Globalization and Culture: Global Melange. Oxford: Rowman
and Littlefield, 2004. Print.
—. "Globalization as Hybridization." Global Modernities. Eds. Mike Featherstone et al.
London: Sage Publications, 1995.44 - 68. Print.
Pipher, Mary. Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls. New York:
Penguin, 1994. Print.
Plaatjies, Nancy Nokwenza. Ubuntu: A Study of African Women's Representation and
Identity in South African Creative Media. Diss. Howard University, 2001. Print.
Podnieks, Elizabeth, and Andrea O'Reilly, eds. Textual Mothers/ Maternal Texts:
Motherhood in Contemporary Women's Literatures. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid
Laurier Press, 2010. Print. 361 Pollard, Alton B. "Rhythms of Resistance: The Role of Freedom Song in South
Africa." This is How We Flow: Rhythm in Black Cultures. Ed. Angela M. S.
Nelson. Columbia, South Carolina: U of South Carolina P, 1999. 98 - 124. Print.
Popke, Jeff. "Geography and Ethics: Spaces of Cosmopolitan Responsibility." Progress
in Human Geography 31.4 (2007): 509 - 518. Scholars Portal. Web. 12 Feb.
2010.
Prabhu, Anjali. Hybridity: Limits, Transformations, Prospects. New York: SUNY UP,
2007. Print.
Pratt, Ray. Rhythm and Resistance: An Exploration in the Political Uses of Popular
Music. New York: Praeger, 1990. Print.
Read, Alan. Theatre and Everyday Life: An Ethics of Performance. London: Routledge,
1993. Print.
Reddy, Vasu. "Turning Sugar and Spice on its Head: Recent Research on the Gendered
Meanings within Girlhood Studies." Agenda: Girlhood in Southern Africa 79
(2009): 78 - 84. Developmentagenda.com Web. 10 Sept. 2010.
Reichert Powell, Douglas. Critical Regionalism: Connecting Politics and Culture in the
American Landscape. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 2007. Print.
Reyes, Angelita. Mothering Across Cultures: Postcolonial Representations. Minneapolis:
U of Minnesota P, 2002. Print.
Rich, Adrienne. "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence." Blood, Bread,
and Poetry. New York: Norton Paperback, 1994. 23- 75. Print. 362 Richards, Constance. On the Winds and Waves of Imagination: Transnational
Feminism and Literature. New York: Garland, 2000. Print.
Richardson, Samuel. Clarissa, or, The History of a Young Lady. Ed. Angus Ross.
London: Penguin Classics, 1985. Print.
—. Pamela; Or, Virtue Rewarded. Eds. Thomas Keymer and Alice Wakely. Oxford:
OUP, 2001. Print.
Robertson, Roland. "Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity."
Global Modernities. Eds. Mike Featherstone et al. London: Sage, 1995.23 - 44.
Print.
Rocquemore, Kerry Ann. "Forced to Pass and other Sins against Authenticity." Women &
Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory 29. 15 (2005): 17-31. Informaworld.
Rosenberg, Ruth. "Seeds in Hard Ground: Black Girlhood in The Bluest Eye." Black
American Literature Forum 21.4 (1987): 435 - 445. JSTOR. Web. 15 Sept. 2009.
Ross, Fiona C. Bearing Witness: Women and the South African Truth and Reconciliation
Commission. New York: Pluto Press, 2003. Print.
Rowe, Aimee Carol. Power Lines: On the Subject of Feminist Alliances. Durham: Duke
UP, 2008. Print.
Russell, Barbara. "A Self-Defining Universe? Case Studies from the 'Special Hearings
Women' of South African's Truth and Reconciliation Commission." African
Studies 67.1 (2008): 49 - 69. Print.
Russell, Diana E.H., ed. Lives of Courage: Women for a New South Africa. New York:
Basic Books, 1989. Print. 363 Ryan, Pamela. "Black Women do not Have Time to Dream." Tulsa Studies in
Women's Literature 11.1 (1992): 95 - 102. JSTOR. Web. 11 Jan. 2009.
Sachs, Albie. "Preparing Ourselves for Freedom." Writing South Africa: Literature,
Apartheid, Democracy, 1970 -1995. Eds. Derek Attridge and Rosemary Jolly.
Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 239 - 248. Print.
—. "Preparing Ourselves for Freedom: ANC In-House Seminar Paper on Culture."
Spring is Rebellious: Arguments about Cultural Freedom by Albie Sachs and
Respondents. Eds. Ingrid de Kok and Karen Press. Cape Town: Buchu Books,
1990. 19-29. Print.
Said, Edward. Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books, 1994. Print.
Sakolsky, Rob, and Fred Wei-Han Ho, eds. Sounding-Off: Music as Subversion/
Resistance/Revolution. New York: Autonomedia, 1996. 13 - 28. Print.
Samuelson, Meg. Remembering the Nation, Dismembering Women?: Stories of the South
African Transition. Durban: U of KwaZulu-Natal P, 2007. Print.
Sanchez, Maria Carla, and Linda Schlossberg, eds. Passing: Identity and Interpretation
in Sexuality, Race and Religion. New York: New York UP, 2001. Print.
Sanders, Mark. Complicities: The Intellectual and Apartheid. Durham: Duke UP, 2002.
Print.
"Sanoco Breaks the Male Chain: Women-Only Oil Company to be Launched." New
African May 2003: 21. Expanded Academic ASAP. Web. 12 May 2010.
Saxton, Ruth O., ed. The Girl: Constructions of the Girl in Contemporary Fiction by 364 Women. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1999.119 - 134. Print.
Scanlon, Helen. Representation and Reality: Portraits of Women's Lives in the Western
Cape, 1948 -1976. Cape Town: HSRC Press, 2008. Print.
Schatteman, Renee. "The Politics of Guilt and Forgiveness: Sindiwe Magona's Mother to
Mother and the TRC." African Literature Association Conference. Madison, WI.
April 15,2004. Print.
Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. "Who's the Killer? Popular Justice and Human Rights in a
South African Squatter Camp." Social Justice 22.3 (1995): 143. Proquest. Web. 10
November, 2010.
Scheub, Harold. TheXhosa Ntsomi. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. Print.
Schipper, Mineke. "Mother Africa on a Pedestal: the Male Heritage in African Literature
and Criticism." African Literature Today 15 (1987): 43 - 44. Print
Schreiner, Olive. The Story of an African Farm. 1883. Print.
—. Woman and Labour. 1911. Print.
Selvick, Stephanie M. "Gender Panic!: Battling for South African Lesbian Subjectivity
through Resistance Poetry." African Literature Association Conference.
Burlington, Vermont. April 2009. Conference Presentation.
Sethi, Raj Mohini, ed. Globalization, Culture and Women's Development. New Delhi:
Rawat Publications, 1999. Print.
Shakespeare, William. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Ed. W.J. Craig. Oxford: OUP, 1914. 365 Print.
Shober, Dianne. "Crafting Creative Bridges - Uniting the Global and the Local."
Proceedings of the Association for University English Teachers of South Africa, 9 -
12 July 2006: Forging the Local and the Global. Stellenbosch: African Sun Media,
2006. 213-220. Print.
Shoup, John. "Pop Music and Resistance in Apartheid South Africa." Alif: A Journal of
Comparative Poetics 17 (1997): 73 - 92. Print.
Simon, Sunka. Mail-Orders: The Fiction of Letters in Postmodern Culture. Albany:
SUNY UP, 2002. Print.
Singer, Dorothy G., and Jerome L. Singer. House of Make Believe: Children's Play and
the Developing Imagination. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1990. Print.
Smith, Gail. "Feminist's Second Novel to Become SA Setwork." City Press 9 Sept.,
2006: 27-28. Print.
Smith Sidonie, and Julia Watson, eds. InterFaces: Visualizing and Performing Women's
Lives. Ann Arbor: Michigan UP, 2002. Print.
Songololo: Voices of Change. Dir. Marianne Kaplan. MSK Productions, 1991. Film.
Sono, Themba. Black Economic Empowerment: Reality or Illusion in South African
Organizations. Mmbatho: Institute of African Studies, Uof Bophuthatswana P,
1991. Print.
South Africa. Department of Justice. Truth and Reconciliation Commission Testimonies. 366 Web. 10 March 2010.
South Africa. Department of Labour. Broad-based Black Economic Empowerment Act:
http://www.info.gov.za/view/DownloadFileAction?id=68031. 2003. Web. 15 Feb.
2010.
Soyinka, Wole. "Neo-Tarzanism: The Poetics of Pseudo-Tradition." Transition 48
(1975): 38 - 44. JSTOR. Web. 11 March 2010.
Spencer, Lynda. "Young, Black and Female in Post-apartheid South Africa." Scrutiny2:
Issues in English Studies in Southern Africa 14.1 (2009): 66 - 78. Informaworld.
Web. 10 March 2010.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. "Can the Subaltern Speak?" Marxism and the
Interpretation of Culture. Eds. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg. London:
Macmillan, 1988. 24- 28. Print.
—. Death of a Discipline. New York: Columbia UP, 2003. Print.
—. Outside in the Teaching Machine. New York: Routledge, 1993. Print.
—. "What is Gender? Where is Europe? Walking with Etienne Balibar," York
University. 1 Mar. 2006. Address.
Spurlin, William. Imperialism within the Margins: Queer Representation and the Politics
of Culture in Southern Africa. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Print.
—. "Queer Identity and Racial Alienation: The Politics of Race and Sexuality in James
Baldwin and in the "New" South Africa." JLS 15.1-2 (1999): 218 - 237. Print.
Stanton, Katherine. Cosmopolitan Fictions: Ethics, Politics and Global Change in the
Works ofKazuo Ishiguro, Michael Ondaatje, Jamaica Kincaid, and J. M. 367 Coetzee. New York: Routledge, 2005. Print.
Stoler, Ann Laura. Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and the Intimate in
Colonial Rule. Berkeley: U of California P, 2002. Print.
Stover, Johnnie M. Rhetoric and Resistance in Black Women's Autobiography.
Gainesville: UP of Florida, 2003. Print.
Stratton, Florence. Contemporary African Literature and the Politics of Gender. New
York: Routledge, 1994. Print.
Strauss, Helene. "Intimately International: Testing the Limits of National Self-Imaging in
Contemporary South Africa." Canadian Association for Commonwealth Literature
and Language Studies. May 31 - June 2 2008. Vancouver. Conference Presentation.
Strehle, Susan. Transnational Women's Fiction: Unsettling Home and Homeland. New
York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Print.
Suttner, Raymond. "Women in the ANC-led Underground." Women in South African
History: Basus'iimbokodo, bawel'imilambo / They Remove Boulders and Cross
Rivers. Ed. Nomboniso Gasa. Cape Town: HSRC Press, 2007. 233 - 254. Print.
Thompson, Leonard. A History of South Africa. 3rd ed. New Haven: Yale UP, 2000. Print.
Threadgold, Terry. Feminist Poetics: Poesies, Performance, Histories. New York:
Routledge, 1997. Print.
Titlestad, Michael. Making the Changes: Jazz in South African Literature and Reportage.
Pretoria: U of South Africa P, 2004. Print. 368 Tlali, Miriam. Between Two Worlds. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2004.
Print.
Tomaselli, K.G., and Maureen Eke. "Perspectives on Orality in African Cinema." Oral
Tradition 10.1 (1995): 111-128. Print.
—. "Reviews of Songololo and The People's Poet.'" South African Theatre Journal 6.2
(1992): 95- 98. Print.
Tomaselli, Keyan G. "The Semiotics of Alternative Theatre in South Africa." Critical
Arts: A Journal for Media Studies 2.1 (1981): 14 - 33. Print.
Tomlinson, John. Globalization and Culture. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1999. Print.
Tompkins, Joanne. Unsettling Space: Contestations in Contemporary Australian Theatre.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Print.
Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa Report. Vols 1-6. New York:
Macmillan Reference, 1998. Print.
Truth and Reconciliation Commission: Final Report.
http://www.justice.gov.za/trc/report/index.htm. Web. 11 Jan. 2008.
Tuan, Yi-Fu. Space and the Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis: U of
Minnesota P, 1977. Print.
Van Dyk, Gary. "Telling Stories for the Greater Good." Cape Argus Tonight 2 Aug.
2004:1. Print.
Van Gend, Cecily. "Coconut (review)." Cape Librarian 1.5 (2007): 18-19. Print.
Van Zyl, Mikki, and Melissa Steyn, eds. Performing Queer: Shaping Sexualities 1994 -
2004. Cape Town: Kwela, 2005. Print. 369 Vera, Yvonne. "An Interview with Gcina Mhlophe." ALA Bulletin 19.4 (1993): 19 -
24. Print.
—. "Under the Tongue." Without a Name and Under the Tongue. New York: Farrar,
Strauss and Giroux, 1996. 121 - 233. Print.
Viljoen, Stella. "En Route to the Rainbow Nation: South African Voices of Resistance."
Critical Studies: Music, Popular Culture, Identities. Ed. Richard Young.
Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2002. 319 - 337. Print.
Wald, Gayle. "The Satire of Race in James Weldon Johnson's The Autobiography of an
Ex-Colored Man." Cross-Addressing: Resistance Literature and Cultural
Borders. Ed. John C. Hawley. New York: SUNY UP, 1996.139 - 156. Print.
Walder, Dennis. "The Number of Girls is Growing: An Interview with Gcina Mhlophe."
Contemporary Theatre Review 9.1 (1999): 27 - 39. Print.
—. "Questions from a White Man who Listens: The Voices of Valley Song." South
African Theatre as/and Intervention. Eds. Marcia Blumberg and Dennis Walder.
Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1999. 101 -112. Print.
Walker, Alice. The Color Purple. Orlando: Harcourt Books, 1982. Print.
—. In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens: Womanist Prose. San Diego: Harcourt Brace,
1983. Print.
Walker, Cherryl. "Conceptualizing Motherhood in Twentieth-Century South Africa."
Journal of Southern African Studies 21.3 (1995): 417 - 437. Print. 370 Weekes, Debbie. "Where My Girls At? Black Girls and the Construction of the
Sexual." All About the Girl: Culture, Power and Identity. Ed. Anita Harris. New
York: Routledge, 2004. 141-154. Print.
Wells, Julia. "The Rise and Fall of Motherism as a Force in Black Women's Resistance
Movements." Conference on Women and Gender in Southern Africa. Durban:
University of Natal. 1991. Print.
West, Graham. "Pregnant with Pain." Wordstock 3 July 2006: 3. Print.
White, Hayden. The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical
Representation. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1987. Print.
—. Tropics of Discourse: Essays in Cultural Criticism. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP,
1978. Print.
Whitlock, Gillian. The Intimate Empire: Reading Women's Autobiography. London:
Cassell, 2000. Print.
Wicomb, Zoe. David's Story. New York: The Feminist Press at City University of New
York, 2001. Print.
—. Playing in the Light. New York: The New Press, 2006. Print.
—. "Reading, Writing and Visual Production in the New South Africa." JCL 2 (1995): 1
- 15. Print.
—. "Shame and Identity: The Case of the Coloured in South Africa." Writing South
Africa: Literature, Apartheid and Democracy 1970-1995. Eds. Derek Attridge
and Rosemary Jolly. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 91 - 107. Print. 371 —. "To Hear the Variety of Discourses." South African Feminisms: Writing, History
and Criticism, 1990 -1994. Ed. M.J. Daymond. New York: Garland, 1996.45 -
56. Print.
—. You Can't Get Lost in Capetown. New York: The Feminist Press, 1987. Print.
Wittig, Monique. Les Guerilleres. Chicago: U of Illinois P, 2007. Print.
Wolf, Naomi. The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty are Used Against Women. New
York: HarperCollins, 1991. Print.
—. Misconceptions: Truth, Lies, and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood. New
York: Doubleday, 2001. Print.
Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One's Own. Ed. Michele Barrett. New York: Penguin Books,
1993. Print.
Wright, Joanna. "Syncretism as a Strategy of Political Resistance in the Poetry of Lesego
Rampolokeng." Scrutiny2 9.1 (1994): 88 - 97. Informaworld. Web. 12 March
2010.
Young, Robert C. Colonial Desire: Hybridity in Theory, Culture, and Race. New York:
Routledge, 1995. Print.
—. Postcolonialism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: OUP, 2003. Print.
—. White Mythologies: Writing History and the West. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge,
2004. Print.
Zimmerman, Marc. Literature and Resistance in Guatemala: Textual Modes and Cultural
Politics from El Sehor Presidente. Vols. 1 and 2. Columbus: Ohio UP, 1995.
Print. Ohio RIS Latin America Ser.