History of
denigrating women by those in power has been repeated by the way the trade
unionist referred to a woman as a ‘girl’, says Nomboniso Gasa, Sunday Independent
Johannesburg
- Despite attempts by his own opponents to find charges that stuck, ranging
from allegations of his wife’s involvement in the pension affairs of Cosatu
workers and his alleged involvement in the Cosatu Head Office debacle,
Zwelinzima Vavi seemed to take the challenges in his stride.
The strain
was evident, as it would be for anybody. But he seemed able to fight back with
dignity and was for the most part, shaken but still standing.
Then, I will
hit you with your sex scandal, seemed to be the new attack of his detractors.
Cornered, he went into fight-back mode. He pre-empted the move and went public
first. He offered explanation of the “situation” and his humble public
apologies to his wife, family and all those he had let down.
“I apologise
for what I have done when I have such a perfect marriage.”
However,
from the outset, Vavi sought to make a clear distinction between his wife and
the woman who was his subordinate at work. In his explanation of the
“situation”, he told of how they met at SAA and how helpful this woman was. He
told his wife about her, and introduced them.
“I said to
my wife this is the ‘girl’ I told you about. The one I said can help us.”
Why a
“girl”? Could this trade unionist be so lacking in self-awareness and complex
politics and heritage of the contested power of language that he did not
consider the implications of calling an adult woman a “girl”?
Or was it a
deliberate choice to denote distance and to assure his wife that the woman
posed no danger? Was she a “girl” because she was considerably younger than him
or was it where they stood in the hierarchy of power?
The
contradiction in referring to the woman as a “girl” and simultaneously
insisting that this was consensual sex between two adults eluded him. Whatever
happened Vavi’s own words confirmed that they did not meet as equals.
In a country
where black men and black women have been historically infantilised by their
employers, Vavi’s choice of words seemed careless. They also lacked
understanding of the politics and power of language. He evoked the master/
servant narrative, many of us know only too well.
How many
women have been in these situations (willingly or unwillingly, mostly
unwillingly) as domestic workers? How many women have had to accept being
infantilised by their masters and madams in the way Vavi and his wife related
to this woman?
But if
“girl” was inappropriate and ill-advised, we had yet to witness the public disrobing
of this woman. As the stress piled on Vavi and the battle in Cosatu
intensified, he did what most black people do in such times – he laid a claim
to and evoked his ancestry and human agency.
“I have come
here to pledge solidarity with the workers. Not as Cosatu general secretary but
in my personal capacity as the ‘son of Mazenjana’.”
In other
words, he was saying “ndimngumntu thyni” (I am a human being).
Within a few
days, he spoke to a group of what must have been his trusted confidants. In that
space of safety, in which he was unburdening himself, he was not able to extend
the same recognition of the woman’s humanity.
“Andazi
nguNopatazana ebendimkhathalele ngantoni lo.” There is really no English
translation of this. Its power lies not only in the individual words chosen,
but the tone and context. (Roughly: I do not know why I even paid attention or
bothered myself with this worthless woman.)
There is the
sting. Next to him, the man of power, she is nothing. She is without worth. She
is not the “daughter of so and so”.
He could
have said “kowu, ndaze ndabhatyaza, maqabane “ (oh, what a blunder I made,
comrades). That would be taking responsibility for his actions. But no, he got
back to his original narrative and representation of this woman as one “beneath
his position, worthless and not worthy of the trouble that ensued”.
Among his
comrades, where I would imagine these things are not exactly unknown, he could
have easily taken responsibility. Still, they could have worked out a way of
dealing with the challenges at hand. This was more than an insult and blame. It
was anger directed at her. It was dehumanisation of the woman.
Language has
been a major part of the Struggle for liberation, self and collective
identification in South Africa and other parts of the world. It has been a
permanent landscape shaping our contestations against those who hold power. It
has also been a powerful tool to claim freedom, even among those deemed
unworthy of freedom.
By language,
I mean not only scientific study of linguistics used to communicate between and
within cultures across the world. Here, I am concerned with the words we use in
our everyday interactions, the power of such choices, the little blocks that
contribute to a solid foundation upon which we build everyday culture and
social interaction.
Such
foundation solidifies the culture of dominance of the powerful over the weaker.
It can, of course, undermine that very structural edifice of power.
Language
also includes the tone and texture of what is said as well as that which is not
said.
Therein lies
its power – in the shifting sands and dynamism that can easily take us from one
meaning to another and puts other people in “their place”.
Depending on
the context, one can resort to language they find offensive and undermining and
claim their power back or most importantly, their own humanity. Such comeback
may not necessarily be verbal.
Grace
Nichols, the Caribbean poet, captures this in her poem Skin-teeth.
Not every
skin-teeth
is a smile
“Massa”
if you see
me smiling
when you
pass
if you see
me bending
when you ask
know that I
smile
know that I
bend
only the
better
to rise and
strike again
The
contestation is not verbal, because it would be detrimental to backchat.
Rather, it is expressed in the internal dialogue that says “your words hold no
power over me, even if I seem to co-operate and ‘smile’”.
There are
stark parallels between Vavi’s battle today and those of President Jacob Zuma
in 2005/7. In both cases the discourse of war is deployed. All wars are fluid,
murky and the enemy is a moving target. As in other wars, women play ambiguous,
yet familiar, roles in the rhetoric and language used.
Women also
play an active part in wars. Many are not passive or powerless. However, in
this war, as in others, women simultaneously occupy troubling positions. They
are “contested territory”, part of the terrain on which commanders trample in
order to destroy the “enemy”. They are also booty and spoils of war – to be
possessed, exposed or hidden as it suits the battle strategy. In “manly talk”
they are also trophies, which fall into the hands of the powerful.
At one level
the battle in which Cosatu is embroiled is about power and interests of
different factions jostling over its control and direction. Vavi is associated
with a faction that depicts its opponents as hijacking Cosatu in the interests
of anti-worker projects, high levels of corruption and falling under the sway
of the ANC leadership. Vavi represents himself as safeguarding Cosatu’s
independence.
Significantly
it is these same considerations that saw Vavi back Zuma’s difficult journey to
the Union Buildings. While there were allegations of corruption and rape
surrounding Zuma, it was said there was a larger agenda at stake. That’s maybe
why there was a suspension of normal forms of behaviour and terms of
engagement. In Zuma’s rape trial, Vavi raised no objections to the way in which
Zuma supporters insulted and burnt effigies of the complainant named as a
“witch” outside the court.
In the same
fashion today “progressive left men” insist that there is a larger agenda and
conspiracy against Vavi. There may well be. But does that justify undermining
decades of painstaking work to fashion responses to a language that diminishes
us?
They are
silent or seek to justify Vavi’s actions and utterances. In the hierarchy of
struggles black women remain at the bottom – our screams unheard and our humanity
unseen. Until we confront the meanings of patriarchy and its manifestation in
everyday language of sexism and dominance, we will see it again.
As
journalist Eduardo Galeano says, “History never really says goodbye. History
says see you later.”
