How do you live under a regime that tries to crush every fiber of your being? Treats you as nothing but cheap human labor? Takes away your land, your very heritage, forces you to move to a barren land? Teaches you to be obedient, to know your place, to swallow your dignity? How do you interact with the people who killed your loved ones and felt good about it? How do you find the will to live under apartheid? You sing.
As I was looking for a topic that was missing from our seminar discussions, I ended up asking myself one simple question that I still couldn’t quite put my finger on: what gave black people the strength to cope with life under apartheid and still hope for a better future, even though the entire world was against them? In Native Nostalgia, Dlamini briefly touched upon this question when he discussed the role of religion, family and tradition in people’s daily lives, stressing the importance of literature and music in township life. Could music be a part of the answer I was looking for? I started digging. Indeed, it seemed that each significant event or policy we had studied in class had a song that reflected its essence, from police brutality to the pass laws. Women sang about having to care for their madam’s white babies and missing their own children. Men sang about the train that took them to the gold mines of Johannesburg, away from their families that could be relocated at any time. For people living during the apartheid, music became a way to make sense of the world when everything else failed — music became their salvation, their power and their strongest weapon.
To better understand the emotional and spiritual side of the anti-apartheid struggle, it’s important to dedicate a portion of our class to studying the role of music in South Africans’ daily lives and the liberation movement. I think this discussion would fit perfectly in the latter half of our course, after Native Nostalgia has already made us rethink the master narrative of the struggle and realize that each person had a unique life even under apartheid. A discussion about music would facilitate this realization and help us reconsider the apartheid’s major events from a more emotional and personal perspective. The suggested materials for my seminar include a brilliant documentary on the history of South African music and its role in the liberation struggle, two journal articles complementing the film, and a list of selected songs to play in class.
The documentary “Amandla! A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony” would become a centerpiece of my seminar as it provides an incredible insight into the importance of music in the liberation movement. Amandla! marries the history of South African music with the history of apartheid itself, using songs to re-live such major historical events as student protests, forced resettlement of black people to the homelands, the launch of the MK and the armed struggle that followed. Interviews with the musicians Hugh Masekela, Miriam Makeba and Abdullah Ibrahim highlight the ever-increasing censorship of the apartheid regime that forced some of South Africa’s most prominent writers, musicians and political activists into exile. Among other things, Amandla! uses songs to shine the light on the militant years of the anti-apartheid struggle and the way this period has shaped South African music (and was, perhaps, shaped by it). As the MK picked up their arms and called to action, their songs picked up the beat, too, and the mellow and soothing melodies were replaced by the dynamic and agitative toyi-toyi, a style of music and dance that was performed during protests and mass gatherings. As the documentary traces the evolution of the apartheid-era music, it captures the songs’ eventual shift from reactionary and non-violent tunes to the revolutionary beats and lyrics – a shift in music as well as people’s mindset. In an interview with some of the younger musicians, we see this mindset play out in action as they adapt the traditional South African songs to the armed struggle by replacing the word “Bible” with “AK-47.” Is it the struggle that shapes the music or vice versa? Musicians enter a loud argument, and the camera slowly drifts off, leaving us without a clear answer. Is there an answer at all?
Amandla! does much more than just give us an overview of the apartheid regime through a lens of music – the sense of intimacy between Lee Hirsch (the director) and the musicians who appear in the film makes it possible to lift the curtain on their private lives and show the other side of the apartheid, rooted in personal experiences rather than historical facts. We see Hugh Masekela speaking Zulu all by himself in the middle of Central Park, cut off from his motherland and having no one to speak to in his native tongue. We hear the tragic fate of Vuyisile Mini who was prosecuted for his political activism and found salvation in his talent even in the face of death, singing from his prison cell the night before his execution. We feel the pain in our hearts as we listen to Sophie Mgcina singing Madame, Please, her velvet voice echoing through the abyss between the lavish life of a white mistress and the poor existence of her black domestic servant. “Madame, please, before you call this funeral a lie, ask me why my people die,” Mgcina sings as the shivers run down my spine. Whenever we read about a historical account of the apartheid or its aftermaths, such as mass evictions, the brutal murder of Steven Biko or the Marikana massacre, I often distance myself from the text to lessen its psychological impact on my mental health – this is why a documentary like Amandla! can help our class engage with the living, breathing reality of the apartheid in a more emotionally profound way, however painful or unsettling it may be.
The journal article The Beat that Beat Apartheid: The Role of Music in the Resistance against Apartheid in South Africa will complement what we have seen in the documentary by tracing the evolution of South African music, from a reflection of common experiences and concerns to “a force to confront the state and actively construct an alternative political and social reality” (17). Schumann argues that during the early 1940s, South African songs were meant to reflect the individual struggles of people brought about by apartheid, such as exploitation, pass laws or police harassment – “the circumstances of life in South Africa” (21). As a decade went by and the apartheid policies became more devious in their nature, stripping people of their homes, their loved ones and almost obliterating their hope for a better future, South Africa experienced a political awakening and protest songs became increasingly popular among artists and regular people alike. Schumann explains that during this period, there was almost no distinction between professionally recorded tracks and the popular songs that emerged during widespread protests as the two often overlapped. “Songs that were first recorded by popular artists were sung in the streets, just as songs that emerged from political rallies were recorded by artists in the studios” (22). Parallel to the documentary, the article pays particular attention to the Sophiatown removals and the songs that emerged during this period – Bye Bye Sophiatown, Sophiatown is Gone and Meadowlands. The literal translation of the last song (We’re moving night and day to go to Meadowlands. We love Meadowlands) misled the government into believing that people were supportive of their removal program while Meadowlands was, in fact, an iconic protest anthem targeted at the state’s Group Areas Act (25).
In the late 1950s, South Africa saw the peak of openly protest music, before the state cracked down on all forms of political dissent (including songs), banned gatherings of more than 3 people (such as concerts) and succeeded in destroying a vibrant music community in Sophiatown, sending South Africa’s prominent musicians such as Abdullah Ibrahim, Miriam Makeba and Hugh Masekela into exile. Just like political activists of the time, South Africa’s music community had to go underground, and while all the songs remained undeniably political, artists had to incorporate hidden meanings into the lyrics to spread their message. Schumann brings up a variety of creative metaphors that African musicians used to bypass the censorship, from a Zulu tale that “symbolizes victory of the underdog over his oppressor” to a song lyric where a “legal slave” was replaced by a “liquor slave,” and much more (26-27). The censorship of South African music continued up until the 1980s, when the anti-apartheid movement entered its most violent period. As people took the struggle to the streets to make South Africa ‘ungovernable,’ the songs began to express a newfound urgency and promote the political momentum of the time (31). The song lyrics became more aggressive and militant, shaping the new stage of the liberation movement and paving the way for the events that would eventually lead to the fall of apartheid and the establishment of South Africa’s multiracial democracy. By providing a comprehensive historical overview of the apartheid-era music and studying the cultural and political influences behind the prominent songs of the period, Schumann’s article will help us better understand the place of music within the realm of the South African struggle.
Building on Schumann’s argument, Mannenberg: Notes on the Making of an Icon and Anthem will help us further uncover how a seemingly “innocent” musical piece can become an iconic symbol of resistance. Abdullah Ibrahim is a legendary South African musician known for Mannenberg, a renowned anti-apartheid jazz anthem. Mannenberg has “a lilting melody and a gentle, hypnotic groove, […] nothing that would inspire people to stand up to the teargas, whips and bullets of the apartheid state” (Mason 26). And yet, it does just that. To trace the song’stransformation into a liberation anthem, the article examines the political and cultural trends of the South African community that made the Mannenberg phenomenon possible in the first place. Mason explains that while Ibrahim and his collaborators did their part in composing an inherently beautiful melody, it was the South African music community that took Mannenberg to the people and “politicized the song by playing it at the innumerable rallies and concerts, linking it directly to the anti-apartheid politics of the United Democratic Front and other progressive organizations” (38). Without the work of these musicians, Mannenberg would remain an icon of South African jazz, but would never become an anthem of the liberation movement.
To bring together everything we have learned, I will start my seminar by playing the five songs below and inviting the class to discuss their significance:
- Nancy Jacobs – Meadowlands, 1956
After translating the song’s lyrics (We’re moving night and day to go to Meadowlands / We love Meadowlands), I would ask students what they can make of its uplifting and cheerful beat. Forced relocation of black people is one of the apartheid’s most devastating events, yet this song expresses “support” for the policy and has a superficially happy melody. Can you recognize the meaning behind this irony? - Miriam Makeba – Beware, Verwoerd, 1965
First, I would point out the song’s lyrics and the release date (Here come the black people / Beware, Verwoerd) and then ask students what they think the message of the song is. What should Verwoerd be aware of? Is the song inviting people to engage in the violent struggle against the state? Or protest through peaceful means? - Hugh Masekela – Stimela/The Coal Train, 1974
What part of the South African history and policies is Masekela referring to? What is the significance behind the train? Can you hear any sort of resemblance or connection between the beat, the melody and the song lyrics? - Abdullah Ibrahim – Mannenberg, 1978
This musical piece has been praised for conveying themes of “freedom and cultural identity.” Can you recognize traditional African elements in this jazz composition? How do they convey freedom? What makes this a good song to play during political rallies? - Lalela Cape Town Choir – Toyi-Toyi
How is the toyi-toyi different from the reactionary songs of the 1940s? What feelings or actions does it aim to inspire on behalf of the protesters and the armed state forces?
Reading List
Amandla! A Revolution in Four Part Harmony. Directed by Lee Hirsch, ATO Pictures, 2002.
Mason, John. “Mannenberg”: Notes on the Making of an Icon and Anthem.” African Studies Quarterly, vol. 9, no. 4, 2007, pp. 25–46, doi:http://asq.africa.ufl.edu/files/Mason-Vol9Issue4.pdf.
Schumann, Anne. “The Beat That Beat Apartheid: The Role of Music in the Resistance against Apartheid in South Africa.” Stichproben – Vienna Journal of African Studies, vol. 8, no. 14, 2008, pp. 17–39, doi:https://stichproben.univie.ac.at/fileadmin/user_upload/p_stichproben/Artikel/Nummer14/Nr14_Schumann.pdf.