A literature is being bom in the process of social crisis and political change. We should be able to say:
we were here; and this is how we were (Gwala 1989:
71).
The resistance struggle in South Africa in the 1970s and 1980s was accompanied by the development of a culture (and a literature) of self-expression on the part of the people anticipating and working towards a liberated society. Since cultural activity did more than just accompany or reflect the liberation process, this has been a recipro
cal and dialectical relationship. The term “popular-democratic litera
ture” construes the resistance literature o f the 1970s and 1980s as expressing an entire (and quite diverse) social movement to end oppression and transform society.
As a conjunctural construct located between politics, society and art, the popular-democratic embodies the hybrid character o f the South African resistance movement, while representing the ways in which different formations coalesced around the attainment of a democratic dispensation. The construct of the popular-democratic also represents a counter-hegemonic process, as collective forms of organisation were used to challenge established structures.
In the early 1970s the Black Consciousness M ovement tried to challenge the structure of oppression by building unity among oppressed South Africans who opposed apartheid:
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We must resist the attempts by protagonists of the bantustan theory to fragment our approach. We are oppressed not as individuals, not as Zulus, Xhosas, Vendas or Indians. We are oppressed because we are black. We must use that very concept to unite our
selves and to respond as a cohesive group (Biko 1988: 113).
Black Consciousness (BC) represents a dialectical moment in the political and cultural development of the liberation struggle in South Africa, when oppressed people reconfigured the crude “ethnic” and
“racial” concepts that the regime had constructed to divide them. In Sipho Sepamla’s poem “My Name Is” (1975: 44) the speaker chal
lenges the racial constructs that were used to reinforce the power of the ruling minorities and instead affirms identities that were more appropriate and meaningful to oppressed people across the country.
In a society based on ascription the recognition that identity could be constituted rather than imposed was significant:
fed in phrases Coloured Kaffir Native Bantu African
And now a furious Black
Modidi waSeshego [Poor man of Seshego]
Qaba laseCofimvaba [Illiterate of Cofimvaba]
Say my name is:
M akhonatsohle or [He who is capable]
M ayenzwintandoyakhonkosi [Let your will be done Lord]
Let them know the name It’s been gone too long
Sepamla’s speaker represents a strategic answer to critical questions raised by Armand M attelart about the subaltern:
How, from their historically defined positions, can classes, groups and individuals without the official
“word” fight against the dispossession of being able to define their own identity, create and imagine another form of uniting amongst themselves, and relating to others? In short, how can they become the often contradictory bearers of another way of thin
king about and improving democracy? (Mattelart and Siegelaub 1983: 17)
The BC, and later African National Congress (ANC), activist Wally Serote addressed such challenges in a variety of ways. In the poem
“City Johannesburg” (1972: 13) the speaker challenges the m ight of South Africa’s largest city by referring pointedly to the oppression upon which it has been built. The framing lines of the poem are significant. “City Johannesburg” begins as follows:
This way I salute you:
My hand pulses to my back trousers pocket Or into my inner jacket pocket
For my pass, my life, Jo’burg City
The poem concludes with:
Jo’burg City, you are dry like death, Jo’burg City, Johannesburg, Jo’burg City.
The poem is an ironic panegyric (praise poem) that draws upon the indigenous oral praise tradition to challenge the oppression upon which the wealth of the most powerful city on the continent has been built. African workers had no place in the city once they expended their daily quota of labour. A battery of legislation, including Influx Control laws and the Pass laws, as well as curfews all conspired to shunt African workers to the far-flung and poorly serviced dormitory townships. In the opening lines, the poor and harrassed worker has no “Bayete!” (the Zulu praise that acknowledges the powerful) in response to the authority o f the apartheid police officer. Either the worker produces a permit or he will be imprisoned and then deported to the rural “homeland” . The framing lines of the poem are ironic. Although mimicking the praise form, the lines signal an
Hybridity and South African Resistance Literature 107
inversion of praise, i. e., criticism, from people who had been turned into strangers in their own land.
Despite the activities of resistance organisations and the trade union movement in the 1970s the apartheid state remained powerful and obdurate. M any BC activists, including Steve Biko, suffered repeated harassment and detention. Biko was tortured to death by security police in September 1977, a fate that befell a num ber of activists. M any poets, like Serote, M tshali, Gw ala and Nkondo wrote poems challenging the frequent deaths o f activists in detention, participating energetically in what M attelart describes as an “un
equal, but dialectical, exchange with the dom inant cultural grid with its norms, values, models and signs connected to ruling power”
(Mattelart and Siegelaub 1983: 17). Chris van W yk’s poem “In De
tention” (1979: 45) challenges the power of the state by decon
structing the casual excuses made by the security police:
He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself while washing He slipped from the ninth floor He hung from the ninth floor
He slipped on the ninth floor while washing He fell from a piece of soap while slipping He hung from the ninth floor
He washed from the ninth floor while slipping He hung from a piece of soap while washing
Perform ed at mass meetings and political rallies in the 1980s, this poem clarifies the location of the popular-dem ocratic literature in the conjuncture betw een politics and art. In October 1977 all Black Consciousness organisations were banned and many activists were imprisoned, banned, killed or driven into exile.
Despite the severe repression of the late 1970s the powerful poetry was not silenced. In exile, the ANC activist Sankie Nkondo produced a powerful poem, “The Bivouac” (1990: 64-6), which ex
presses deep confidence in historical identity. This is demonstrated through her speaker’s flamboyant license with geography and historical facts and figures. Showing that all readings are enriched or limited by the subject positions of writer and reader in the field of
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ideological struggle, Nkondo’s poem challenges the postcolonial reader to engage in the construction of meaning: 1
It is good for them to know who I am
I am Bambata on Cetswayo related to Nghunghunyana cousining Moshoeshoe to converge on Isandhlwana and bivouac at Voortrekkerhoogte but the pigmentation hatchet men insist that I am confused indeed Vendaland by Ciskei is my home the rest is forbidden ground But I know who I am I know and feel my roots
my mother sojourned at Ramabulana my uncle is Ndebele
my father is my father I am South Africa
Recognising the significance o f nationalism in anti-colonial struggles, the speaker’s ‘assertions, recoveries, and identifications, all of them quite literally grounded on this poetically projected base ... are made possible by a sense of the land reappropriated by its people’ (Said 1993: 273). This was not an easy process, espe
cially as the political exiles had the additional challenges o f dis
tance and dislocation.
In 1980 the repression within the country was again challenged by the youth, in countrywide education boycotts. The activism o f the early 1980s was consolidated by the rise of federations like the United Democratic Front (UDF) in 1983. The UDF followed the construction of “the people” that the African National Congress had long been using and which it had recently broadened to include all South Africans resisting oppression. Given the might of the state the vagueness o f the construct “the people” had strategic value at that historical juncture, enabling the UDF to unite a broad and powerful opposition. In the 1970s and 1980s the term “the people” did not signify an immanent unity, but represented an imagined construct
Hybridity and South African Resistance Literature 109
issuing from the desire of millions of people to be free from oppres
sion.
A subset of the construct of “the people” is “the com m unity”.
M ore than any other concept in the scheme of the popular- democratic it is the term “community” that evokes hybridity. The term “community” conditions the notion of hybridity in ways that are quite significant. In the South African resistance struggle the notion served to shift the focus from isolated individuals to pressure groups with the capacity to challenge the powerful apartheid state and its allies. The construct of “community” did not signify a homo
geneous entity but encompassed differentiation. In many of the resistance discourses of the 1970s and 1980s the notion of “commu
nity” stood in opposition to the military, economic, political and cultural hegemonies that characterised South African society, as well as the legal and institutional exclusions that secured the domination and profit of a minority.
The literature produced by poets like W ally Serote, Mafika Gwala, Jeremy Cronin, Gcina M hlope and the early Mbongeni Ngema has tended to speak in a community of dissent. This feature was already apparent in the early 1970s in the community of spirit in the work of the poets Oswald M buyiseni Mtshali, W ally Serote and M afika Gwala. M tshali’s anthology Sounds o f a Cowhide Drum (1972; first published in 1971) suggests the pathbreaking nature of his anthology: the title unmistakeably locates his poems in English in an African context. The speaker in the title poem “Sounds of a cowhide drum” (1972: 71), which occurs at the end of the anthology, has a public voice which suggests the ideological mission of arti
culating the experiences of oppressed people. Through the speaker the poet affirms his location within an indigenous oral tradition, celebrating his conjoint roles as orator, historian, seeker and healer:
Boom! Boom! Boom!
I am the drum on your dormant soul, cut from the black hide of a sacrificial cow.
The rest of the anthology features vignettes of township life as the poet explores the potential of the genre to articulate the evolving identity of African people as they became assertive about their loca
tion in society.
Hybridity and South African Resistance Literature 111 The symbol o f cattle, traditionally the most prized among the possessions of indigenous African people, also informs the title of Mongane W ally Serote’s first poetry collection, Yakhal’inkomo (1972). The Nguni title, which affirms and develops the image that Mtshali evoked, suggests the politics of the poet: while the literal meaning of the title is “the cry of the cow”, Serote explains in his preface that the term signifies “the cry of the cattle at the slaughter house” (1972: 6). This refers to the experience o f African people in South Africa. Further on in the preface Serote clarifies his inter
pretation of the phrase through a story:
Dumile, the sculptor, told me that once in the country he saw a cow being killed. In the kraal cattle were looking on. They were crying for their like, dying at the hands of human beings. Yakhal’inkomo....The cattle raged and fought, they became a terror to them
selves; the twisted poles of the kraal rattled and shook. The cattle saw blood flow into the ground (ib.).
Serote remarks on the narrator’s reaction: “Dumile held the left side of his chest and said that is where the cry of the cattle hit him ...
Yakhal’inkomo”(ib.). By referring to the sculptor Dumile Feni, Serote locates himself within a community of committed artists, and suggests the sharing and interdependence characteristic of popular- democratic production. Dum ile’s story suggests a range of responses to oppression that different poems in the collection represent: iden
tification with fellow suffering, mourning, terror, self-destruction and rebellion.
Serote draws upon a second example to clarify the theme of
“yakhal’inkomo” :
I once saw Mankunku Ngozi blowing his saxophone.
Yakhal’inkomo. His face was inflated like a balloon, it was wet with sweat, his eyes huge and red. He grew tall, shrank, coiled into himself, uncoiled and the cry came out of his horn.
This is the meaning of Yakhal’inkomo (ib.).
In these lines Serote acknowleges the work of the Cape Town saxophonist, W inston Mankunku Ngozi, who had a popular jazz album in the 1960s called Yakhal’inkomo. Thus, Serote draws upon another artist to render the struggle artists have articulating oppres
sion. Through the reference to music Serote builds upon the allusion to indigenous music that Mtshali made to contextualise his own anthology. In the local oral traditions, music and poetry are not distinct genres, and this influence is evident in the collections of both poets.
Serote’s use of Dumile Feni and W inston M ankunku Ngozi to establish his frame of reference is a modernist tactic. The gesture is not only formal but ideological, for it underlines the commitment these artists made to the liberation struggle. Serote’s strategy suggests two types of solidarity: a fundamental assertion of identity with oppressed people, as well as artistic fellowship in the cause of the liberation. Serote’s poems also refer to Nina Simone, Frantz Fanon, M artin Luther King, M alcolm X and George Jackson, which suggests that the poet sees his work not only as part of a local movement against apartheid and capitalism but as part of an African, African-American and postcolonial network against oppression.
Serote’s reference to jazz music affirms a relationship with a musical paradigm that has roots in the African continent. There are distinct parallels between jazz music, which arose when African slaves in the diaspora were obliged to use western instruments to articulate their feelings, and the work of South African poets who were obliged to use the English language.
In 1977 M afika Pascal Gwala published an anthology, J o l’iinko
mo, which, like Serote’s first collection, was based on a musical piece by another South African artist, the internationally famous exiled singer M ariam Makeba. In the poem “Getting off the Ride”
(1977: 60-68) Gwala refers to
Mariam Makeba’s ‘Jol’iinkomo’ that brings back the proud and angry past of my ancestors.
“Jol’iinkomo” refers to a song of encouragement sung by young Xhosa women as young men were preparing to go to war. Like Serote, Gwala interprets the traditional term strategically, explaining in his preface that he understands it to mean “bringing the cattle
home to the safety of the kraal and the village elders” (1977: 6).
W hile G w ala’s construction resonates with the title o f M tshali’s first collection, it goes further, to challenge the linguistic/ethnic divisions of apartheid. It was unthinkable in the scheme o f apartheid, which sought to divide and rule the black majority, for a Zulu-speaking person to appreciate Xhosa culture. (Yet the differences between Zulu and Xhosa are not even a matter of language but dialect, yet the apartheid state sought to escalate these divergences into linguistic and even ethnic differences.)
This tapestry of poems and songs depend upon the reader/
audience for closure. As public and m obilising forms o f art they closely involve and represent their audiences in their processes.
Such forms o f literature sought to construct spaces where voices that were fragmented, dislocated, m arginalised and silenced in South Africa had a forum and a locus, in this way anticipating the developments in the labour and mass dem ocratic movements in the 1980s. It is evident that the cultural activity that occurred in the context of the struggle did more than ju st accom pany or reflect the liberation process; there was a reciprocal and dialectical relation
ship (Cabral 1979: 205-212) betw een culture and the struggle.
Democratic ideals have been powerful in the resistance to minority domination, particularly in the 1980s when, across the country, there was an unprecedented development of strategic allian
ces between a variety of resistance structures with a unitary, dem o
cratic state and full franchise as the common objectives. Given that elsewhere in the world there are right-wing parties that call them
selves “popular”, the term “democratic” in popular-democratic is an important qualifier, indicating the values that inform its orientation.
The democratic ideal of the liberation organisations proved more threatening to the security of the minority regime than Communism or Marxism which the National Party government vilified. Part of the political imagery of the resistance movements, the term dem o
cracy signified both an ideal state and an informing process. The value of the construct increased both because and despite the repres
sion o f the state. The contention o f the state and other forces (such as business conglomerates, conservative-liberals, and homeland leaders) that differences between South Africans ruled out a demo
cratic political dispensation in a unitary state was powerfully
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Hybridity and South African Resistance Literature 113
challenged by the UDF and the Congress of South A frican Trade Unions (COSATU).
There was a curious amount o f affinity between the worker culture and the culture of other sectors of oppressed people in the 1980s, perhaps in reaction to the divisive role of the state. Organised workers across the country tended not to see their workplace struggles as being separate from their community struggles, and they did not confine themselves to singing only worker songs, but also sang the freedom songs of the liberation struggle. This is also evident in the COSATU worker literature (Qabula, Hlatshwayo and M alange 1986; Oliphant 1991).
M ost worker-artists were obliged to use the materials on hand.
Fugitive forms of expression came into existence amidst indiffe
rence and hostility from the dominant, and without cultural prece
dent or authority (Brett 1986; Barber 1987; and M attelart and Siegelaub 1983). By adapting traditional forms to suit the demands of the period, the industrial environment and the new political challenges, the worker poets made a significant contribution to the development of South African literature:
Oral poetry, thought by many to be a dead tradition or the preserve of chiefly praises, resurfaced as a voice of ordinary black workers and their struggles (Sitas in Qabula, Hlatshwayo and Malange 1986: 3-4).
W hen he was a shop steward Alfred Tem ba Qabula composed izibongo (praise poems) for a M etal and Allied W orkers’ Union annual general meeting in 1984. Qabula used the praise form, an old and distinctive art form with socio-political resonances, to raise the w orkers’ consciousness of their union and its role in their lives. His performance acted as a catalyst and
[ordinary black workers with performing and rheto
rical power began orating their poetry in Zulu, using all the elements they could gather from their cultural formations to express a new sense of self-identity (Sitas 1989: 47).
Through poems that were innovative while expressing continuity, the worker poets contested the monopoly of the Inkatha Freedom
Party (IFP) over Zulu cultural traditions, just as they challenged the IFP’s claim to inheriting the mantle of Zulu resistance to colonia
lism. In their use o f the praise form poets like Alfred Qabula, Mi Hlatshwayo and M adlizinyoka Ntanzi showed the
symbols of the Zulu past being lured away from an aggressive ethnic nationalism and put to the service of a wider, more egalitarian cause [which] challenges
symbols of the Zulu past being lured away from an aggressive ethnic nationalism and put to the service of a wider, more egalitarian cause [which] challenges