Long-time readers of this column will know that there is no love lost between me and Helen Zille (the receipts are scattered far and wide online).
But I have to agree with the chief commentator-from-afar on South African politics, Washington-based journalist Redi Tlhabi, that the outgoing federal chair of the DA produced a “beautiful moment” during the party’s congress at the Gallagher Convention Centre last weekend.
During an interview with eNCA’s Gareth Edwards, as a rendition of Brenda Fassie’s Vulindlela commenced on the stage behind her, Zille beamed triumphantly: “That’s my song!” And she gave Edwards’ viewers a minute of karaoke gold.
Whether this was contrived or not is irrelevant. The would-be mayor of Johannesburg belted out the same lyrics a few days before on the campaign trail — and while the video of that performance has not been doing the same numbers on social media as some of her service delivery stunts, it falls into a similar genre. One of Zille’s strengths is that she doesn’t mind looking a bit silly.
Vulindlela has been her go-to tune for years. In 2015, when she stepped down as the DA’s official leader, she sang it for the crowd at that year’s congress. I imagine that no one in attendance believed her when she promised “that was the last time you have to hear me sing!” Over the past decade, the party has been unable to shake the popular view that Zille is still pulling the strings, especially as chair of its Federal Council since 2019.
If the Johannesburg mayoral race is her last hurrah, she is going out in style. If she gets voted in, and manages to stay in office for a full term — not a common achievement among the city’s mayors — she will be older than almost anyone else in South Africa’s post-apartheid gerontocracy has been on retirement from public office. Ideology, race and related considerations aside, this is really the major misgiving that voters are likely to have about Zille’s candidacy.
Still: sing on, Gogo Helen, sing on. At the very least, she is showing that white South Africans don’t have to be disconnected from the country’s pop culture iconography and, more specifically, from the languages in which it is expressed. When speaking rather than singing, Zille may seem awkward as she slips between English, isiZulu, isiXhosa and Afrikaans in attempting a kasi-taal of her own, but it is an endearing idiolect — and one that many of us would do well to imitate.
I wonder how much Zille has dwelt on the lyrics of her favourite song. Is Vulindlela just for vibes or does it carry a political message?
It’s a wedding song, of course: vul’ indlela, it declares to the community, open up a path for the bride and groom! But this demand to “make way” has various ramifications. On the one hand, it’s a maternal celebration. Don’t be jealous, the mother of the groom sings, Bengingazi ng’yombon’ umakoti — I didn’t think I’d ever see a bride for my son.
On the other hand, the song transcends its nuptial setting and becomes about a collective and hopeful future that emphasises youth. Make way for the next generation! That was supposed to be what Zille did in 2015 when Mmusi Maimane took over. Now, in the post-Steenhuisen era, the DA discourse is again all about fresh starts and new chapters.
In his acceptance speech as incoming party leader, Geordin Hill-Lewis trod a fine line, paying tribute to his precursors while affirming a generational shift. I guess we are going to find out if the son will make his own way or will continue to do his mother’s bidding.
When Fassie released Vulindlela, she was only 33 years old and her son was 12. The song is not autobiographical and shouldn’t be taken too literally; performing at the Kora music awards in 2001, she lip-synched the song while dressed as a schoolgirl, walking into the audience to give a banana to Nelson Mandela.
Noting that the ANC used Vulindlela in the 1999 election campaign to take advantage of its “sentiments of freedom and optimism”, scholar Mbali Mazibuko suggests that the fusion of mother and daughter in Fassie’s playful performance subverts the idea of the nation as a nuclear family. For Mazibuko, this is an invitation to South Africans “to ask difficult and necessary questions about their future as citizens. Do their leaders fully represent the nation, including the rebel girl child? Fassie symbolises those who are most often excluded”.
I hope that the next time Zille sings Vulindlela — and I don’t doubt that there will be a next time — she keeps these questions in mind.
This article was first published in Business Day.
