Why I choose to sing Die Stem

Judges of the Constitutional Court give their 100 percent to every case, no matter how big or small " a quality the author admires in this age of rampant mediocrity. Picture: Antoine de Ras

Judges of the Constitutional Court give their 100 percent to every case, no matter how big or small " a quality the author admires in this age of rampant mediocrity. Picture: Antoine de Ras

Published Oct 4, 2015

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It serves as a reminder that we are better than our former oppressors, writes Lwando Xaso.

 The EFF national spokesman Mbuyiseni Ndlozi argues Die Stem represents a heritage of oppression and indignity and must not be a part of our national anthem.

“It is a song of oppressors, racists and mass murderers… National anthems are songs of collective pride and we cannot be proud of the songs of mass murderous regimes.” I agree that it can hardly be said that we are proud of Die Stem’s origins but I am proud of what we have done with it.

The debate reminds me of the time I served as a law clerk at the Constitutional Court. It was a significant time in my career because not only did I leave the court a better lawyer, but also a proud South African.

That sense of pride has stayed with me through the turbulence of recent sagas and scandals, which have plagued the government.

The court offered me, and still does, an emotional sanctuary. It is where I found solace and chose to pay my last respects to former president Nelson Mandela after he passed away because the court symbolises his victory, our victory, as a people, and the court is living testament of an achievement of miraculous proportions.

I had the opportunity to closely observe the judges of the Constitutional Court. Seeing their dedication, commitment and sense of purpose as they went about their work was my daily inspiration. The court was the best kind of education for me as it is the site for intellectual debates on very complex matters of national importance.

What impressed me is the judges brought their “A” game to every case no matter how big or small, a quality I don’t take for granted in this age of rampant mediocrity.

However, what I find interesting is that the home of the guardians of the constitution was built on a site with a very dark history of oppression and brutality – the Joburg Fort.

It was the site of a military defence post during the South African War (1899-1902) and a place that was notorious for its harsh treatment of prisoners.

The site housed three notorious prisons: the Fort, where white inmates were kept; Section 4 and Section 5, the “natives’ jail”, built in 1902, and the women’s jail, added in 1909. Many struggle heroes passed through the doors of the Old Fort.

The prison is also the only one in the world to have imprisoned two Nobel Peace Prize laureates – Nelson Mandela and Albert Luthuli.

It was a place of degradation. Prisoners were compelled to take part in the “tauza dance”, a humiliating ritual that the black prisoners had to undergo when they were returning from a court appearance or a work programme to ensure that they had nothing hidden in their rectums. The prison was closed in 1983, “leaving a scar on Joburg’s metropolis – a bleak reminder of our painful past”. It is unusual for a court to be built on the site of a prison, yet the Constitutional Court’s judges deliberately chose the Old Fort.

“This historical site, where densely populated and frenetic Hillbrow meets leafy and affluent Parktown and bureaucratic Braamfontein, is now Constitution Hill, the home of South Africa’s highest court.”

It has been said the “juxtaposition reflects what is the biggest challenge facing the country: the mediation between the demands of the haves and have-nots, the so-called upper classes and criminal classes”. I am not proud of the history of the site but am proud of what we have done with it. The court could easily have been built in Sandton but instead it is in downtown Joburg and within reach of those who need its protection the most.

One of my duties at the court was taking visitors, especially foreigners, on a guided tour of the court and Constitutional Hill, something I still do today even though I no longer work there. The court was deliberately designed to leave its visitors optimistic about the future and more importantly in awe of South Africans – what we have overcome and our resilience. It stands as a monument of our achievement as a people

Conducting these tours and seeing visitors from Africa, North America, Europe and Asia soak in our incredible story and for the duration of the tour forget all about the negative narratives of today prophesising our doom keeps me optimistic and would make it impossible for anyone else to ever write off this beautiful country.

One of my favourites parts of the tour is informing the court’s visitors that the chamber of the court was built with bricks from the demolished awaiting-trial section of the prison.

These bricks have intentionally been left bare to remind us of our past as we embark on our constitutional transformation.

The design of the court is proof that it is not interested in whitewashing the past – in fact it resists that and its judgments always acknowledge where we come from.

The aesthetic of the court is distinctly African and symbolism is used throughout the court to communicate the message that this is a court conscious of its setting, its history and optimistic about the future.

There is a 8m-tall carved front door to welcome visitors with engravings in South African languages, including sign language and Braille to ensure that no one feels excluded or intimidated as they walk in.

Nguni cattle hides decorate the bench, each with its own distinct pattern symbolic of the diversity of South Africa and of the bench itself.

The ground-level ribbon window in the court’s chamber and the abundance of glass used throughout the court ensures the judges are not shielded from the reality of the outside world and also serves as a reminder of the merits of transparency which is a break from our secretive past.

The court uses a tree as its official symbol. This is evocative of the African tribal tradition of resolving disputes under the branches of a tree, which promotes transparency as the whole village can observe the proceedings.

The judges themselves are clad in green robes rather than the traditional black in an effort to rebuild the once-broken trust between the justice system and society by saying that this court is new and different from what you experienced before.

So when I sing the national anthem, I sing the Afrikaans part too because in that moment I am reminded of the magnanimity of my people. When we sing Die Stem it is a reminder that we are better than our oppressors.

Instead of bitterness and hatred we have chosen inclusion and redemption. We have redeemed and liberated our oppressors and to me there is no greater display of power than responding with steely grace rather than resentment when you have every right to be resentful. It is not stupidity, it is power. As a result we are giants, we have set a standard that ordinary human beings would find difficult to attain. That’s why we are a miracle because what we have done is extraordinary.

It was Martin Luther King jr who said: “My personal trials have also taught me the value of unmerited suffering. As my sufferings mounted, I soon realised that there were two ways that I could respond to my situation: either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force.

“I decided to follow the latter. I have attempted to see my personal ordeals as an opportunity to transform myself and heal the people involved in the tragic situation which now obtains.”

The leaders who negotiated our freedom transformed the unmerited suffering of the oppressed into a creative force that built the Constitutional Court atop a prison and included Die Stem as part of the national anthem to save us from bitterness and to provide us with an opportunity to heal not only ourselves but the oppressor too.

As we question their wisdom, we need to remember that our leaders showed us that a tree can grow out of concrete. Now we have to ask if we can rise to even greater heights and channel our bitterness into an even greater creative productive force, or is it our mission to undo their gains at every turn?

 

*Xaso is lawyer with an LLM in constitutional and administrative law from UCT and an LLM in international human rights law from the University of Notre Dame.

** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.

The Sunday Independent

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