An essay entitled Beyond Mandela by Onyekachi Wambu caught my eye today and it reminded me of a quote that we included in a recently published Kubatana electronic newsletter. Michelle Gavin, an international affairs fellow at the U.S.-based Council on Foreign Relations suggests that it is necessary to avoid the trap of embracing “an anyone-but-Mugabe approach while the system stays the same”. She recommended an emphasis on better governance – adherence to the rule of law, an end to political violence, and free and fair elections.

As we approach yet another election how are we, the citizens of Zimbabwe, investigating, analyzing, debating and reviewing what the political opposition stands for? If we don’t snap out of this “anyone but Mugabe” mode it is almost certain that we will, if a free and fair election takes place (very doubtful), be voting in a new government with the same corrupt and flawed systems in place.  As Onyekachi Wambu states in the context of South Africa, and the same applies to Zimbabwe, “we require a partnership between leader and led, where there is genuine two-way communication and accountability as we move to deliver on the promises of liberation – peace, safety, economic prosperity and dignity.”

Below is the full text of Wambu’s essay

Last weekend I drove through Parliament Square to catch my first glimpse of the Nelson Mandela statue. As I drew closer to the monument, which was smaller than I expected, I saw a black family sitting at the foot of the outstretched arms, having their picture taken. Mother, daughter, father – drawn to the square, to Nelson.

Two days later I was passing again, on a bus. The scene was repeated: another black family, in Mandela’s embrace, pride on their faces. Nelson, drawing black people into this public space, his healing magic melting away years of exclusion and bitterness, redefining the meaning of the square for us. In time, might we even begin to speak of Nelson’s Square?

There is a reason to cheer – but cheer what, exactly? What does his statue symbolise for the black families who will visit? Some, including the great man himself, have spoken about it representing freedom and liberation. But this is too simple in a way, neatly packaging a messy period, and one with consequences that have yet to unravel.

But in discussions about black leadership some of my friends and colleagues have over the years voiced great hostility to Mandela, believing he was lauded by the west because he sold out on the key issues of land and the economy – and nobody ended up in The Hague for crimes committed under apartheid. For them, the statue might then encapsulate this story of betrayal, from the idealised clarity of militant imprisonment to the later, post-prison compromise.

Even if one accepts the underlying sentiment of such an analysis regarding the deal struck, on a human level it overlooks any appreciation of the suffering endured by Mandela and the generation who spent decades in prison. His detractors seem to demand even more sacrifice – like their martyred heroes Steve Biko or Patrice Lumumba – rather than the gentle denouement of honourable retirement. The heavy burden of black leadership was suddenly immediate and sobering.

Looking at the range of post-independence African leaders, the common perception has been of corrupt and venal individuals, brutal dictators and tyrants, and sit-tight presidents for life – very few of whom have improved the lot of their people. Like all stereotypes, it captures an element of truth, but the reality is more complex. Later this month Mo Ibrahim, one of the continent’s richest men, after assessing the performance of the continent’s leaders in a sort of beauty contest, will offer the “winner” $5m – effectively a bribe to persuade them to do the right thing.

In this year of commemoration of the abolition of the slave trade, I hope the statue and Ibrahim’s award will enable us to open a dialogue about black leadership. After all, Mandela and his Robben Island colleagues evoke another great generation from an earlier period on San Domingo, in the Caribbean, who secured the first victory against slavery, constitutional racism and white dictatorship. Toussaint L’Ouverture, the great conciliator and leader of that group of liberators, had been imprisoned by Napoleon Bonaparte, who betrayed his own promises to L’Ouverture as well as the ideals of the French revolution. As the struggle for liberation continued, L’Ouverture was replaced by the uncompromising Jean-Jacques Dessalines, who massacred whites on the island on the way to establishing an independent and free state, Haiti.

Two hundred years later, Mandela would forgive white South Africa. We are now in the post-liberation phase, and the quest for development is now the measure of the leadership needed from Africans.

Ali Mazrui, one of the contributors to a book on African leadership I have edited, rightly points out that over this 200-year period, people of African descent have produced an extraordinary number of leaders of liberation and conciliation, but have been poor in producing effective leaders of development – something the Ibrahim “beauty” index should address. I don’t believe these leaders of development need be Moses figures.

We require a partnership between leader and led, where there is genuine two-way communication and accountability as we move to deliver on the promises of liberation – peace, safety, economic prosperity and dignity. In the end, finally looking up into those outstretched arms, I was glad the statue of Nelson was not that big, that it had human proportions. After all, it is in our hearts that men become mountains.

I’ve been reading a book entitled 28 Stories of AIDS in Africa compiled by Stephanie Nolen. The publicity for the book states

In 28, you’ll meet the doctor dodging bullets as she runs a makeshift clinic in war-torn Congo, hear why Nelson Mandela decided to go public about the cause of his son’s death, encounter the trucker who has spent a lifetime picking up prostitutes on the lonely highways of East Africa, and have an audience with the Botswanan beauty queen proud to be crowned ‘Miss HIV Stigma-free’. Stephanie Nolen’s eloquent and sympathetic book paints a fresh and inspiring portrait of Africa in crisis, making it impossible for us to ignore and impossible to forget.

Zimbabwean, Prisca Mhlolo shares her story in this remarkable book. You can read her account here and we encourage you to buy 28 Stories of AIDS in Africa online. Below is a short excerpt from Prisca’s story . . .

All the anger shock and pain of that moment were clear in Prisca’s face twenty later years later. “The way she said it was something else: AIDS! Where did the AIDS come from? I looked down at my daughter in my lap and she was not a child any more, she was something-she was now AIDS to me. I didn’t want anything to do with that child. I took her and threw her-she hit the corner of the desk and got a big cut. She collapsed. And I ran from that hospital into the street screaming. Doctors were coming and they wanted to get hold of me but they couldn’t because I was running. In Mazoe Street, just by the entrance, I collapsed. The next thing I knew, I woke up and it was two weeks later.”

When she awoke in a hospital bed with her husband standing next to her, she turned to him in anguish. “I said, ‘Bruce, we are dying, we are already dead.’ He said, ‘Why?’ I told him about Agnes. I told him, ‘Because of AIDS. ‘I’m a moving grave as you see me.’ That’s what I told him.

I enjoyed reading the latest Body Language column in the Mail and Guardian. The photo that accompanies it is the cover of the current issue of Vanity Fair. It shows a milky skinned Nicole Kidman opening her blouse and baring her bra clad breasts. I agree with Kira Cochrane, the author of the column when she suggests

There is something strangely passionless and perfunctory about the pose – as though, off camera, a doctor has just shown up and told her its time for an impromptu mammary examination. Or, indeed, the magazine editor has just told her she is off the cover unless she gets on with it and gets ‘em out.

The nub of this week’s Body Language is that no matter how successful or intelligent or talented a woman is the media will insist on reducing her to tits and arse.

This got me thinking about how women are portrayed and featured in the Mail and Guardian as a case in point. On closer inspection I found that the writing of male journalists, reporters and commentators is overwhelmingly featured. Even in the Verbatim column, there is just one quote from a woman.

When it comes to the pictorial representation of women the Mail and Guardian is especially poor – at least in this issue. I had to go through 18 pages before I found a photograph of a woman either related to an article or in advertising.

I guess we should be grateful for small mercies though. Featured on page 56 is that very rare bird seldom seen in most mainstream newspapers; the sportswoman. The Mail and Guardian carries an article, and a photograph of Kelly Smith celebrating scoring a goal for England in the Women’s World Cup.

Unfortunately my pleasure was short lived because the article by (you guessed it) David James, caved in on itself with this final paragraph

Kelly Smith is a phenomenal player; with her positioning on the ball she wouldn’t look out of place in a men’s side. One of the lads put it deftly when he said: ‘She’s a manly player – without looking at all manly.’

If you ask me the lad needs a deft kick up his arse.

Late the other night I encountered Mugabe and his rather large cavalcade on the Airport Road. I had just arrived, and he was leaving for that UN thing. The friend who had picked me up immediately pulled over because if you don’t you’re likely to get a pummeling. One of Mugabe’s outriders used his loudspeaker to tell us to switch our lights off, which we did and the dark night got even darker. My friend’s car is really, really tiny so we rocked from side to side a bit as the cavalcade sped by. Imagine some Avis car hire tourists coming across that lot as soon as they arrived in Harare.

Anyway, cavalcades got me thinking about something I read recently in The Spectator magazine. In a column entitled I always cheer up Down Under by Stanley Johnson he discusses the recent Apec (Asia-Pacific Economic Co-operation) meeting. Apparently there’s a TV show in Australia called The Chaser’s War on Everything and they played a huge prank during the Apec talks. Here’s a small excerpt

They organised a fake cavalcade of limousines, complete with outriders and Canadian maple-leaf flags fluttering from the bonnets of the vehicles, the show’s mischievous presenters managed to breach successive levels of security to deposit an Osama bin Laden lookalike within yards of President Bush’s hotel.

Mugabe will be quite pleased I think to hear of the potential demise of John Howard who seems to be losing popularity both within his own party as well as with the majority of Australians. Apparently Howard’s main political opponent, the younger and more modern Kevin Rudd, wowed China’s President Hu by welcoming him with a long speech in Mandarin. Although, according to The Spectator

Some linguistic experts pointed out that when Rudd proclaimed he wanted to ‘develop the closest possible links’, he actually used the Mandarin to ‘achieve simultaneous orgasms’, but, if that was so, President Hu seemed totally unfazed.

As I was passing through security at Harare International Airport (if you can still call it that) the young woman ahead of me was asked to open her bag for inspection. She replied that she’d like a female customs officer to attend to her because her bag contained “women’s things”. Which got me thinking about what she could possibly be embarrassed about. Surely we’ve moved on from being squeamish about tampons and bras? But perhaps she had something more exciting, like a sex toy.

Truth is I hate flying on my own. I need a hand to hold; going up, coming down and during turbulence. Otherwise I’m fine. There was a medical emergency on the plane I was on recently when I traveled between Johannesburg and Port Elizabeth. The guy in the seat across the aisle from me had a bad turn and had to be given some oxygen. I felt a bit bad because I’d just given him a dirty look because of the gusto with which he was eating his cheddar cheese roll. I can’t bear noisy eaters especially in confined spaces.

I finally ended up in a place called Kenton and spent some time by the sea which was all round fabulous. On one occasion I popped into the local bar and met Trevor a retired South African who gives tourists boat rides. I thought a safe subject for a bit of bar room small talk would be rugby but he got so enthusiastic and detailed in his descriptions of the world cup that my eyes started to glaze over. I moved swiftly on to something I could tolerate – the Twenty20 cricket. Zimbabwe had just won their game against Australia which everyone was celebrating. Like Catherine Makoni blogged, there were quite a few provocative placards scattered about Newlands Cricket Ground during the Zimbabwe/Australia game. What a pity the people filming the event were so skittish about giving us a good read of them. As soon as a placard commenting on the “Zimbabwe situation” appeared on screen the cameraman moved swiftly on to the safe subject of a group of children screaming into the camera.

I have to say that whilst Brendan Taylor was terrific, he needs a bit of a makeover. I wonder whether there’s a Queer Eye for the Wicketkeeper? Another player that I’m itching to get some scissors to is Dhoni who’s hair looks like it hasn’t been conditioned in 14 years.

But back to Trevor. When he asked where I was from, and I said Zimbabwe, he held his head in his hands with a pained expression on his face. And then he said, “You lot are in the dwang (shit)”. Whilst this is true, how I wish Zimbabwe isn’t seen as such a sad case. Or as Brenda said, the butt of jokes.

So I’m just back in Harare. Our plane got in quite late on Friday night. It was wonderful to come back home even with all the challenges we have to deal with. It was great to get a warm welcome from a comrade in arms and have her say, “hey, guess what’s in your deep freeze?” And when I said, a chicken? She said, well don’t get ahead of yourself, I got you a few wings.

I’ve just received this email from one of our Kubatana subscribers. It made me angry, how about you?

For the past week I have left home every morning having had a small bowl of porridge with no milk and no sugar. Throughout the day and between running around I have called into various supermarkets, bakeries etc to see what could be bought cheaply to eat – nothing! I have done this purposely so as to understand the very scarey reality that millions of Zimbabweans are facing – hunger. And I am better off than those millions. You can’t eat floor polish or detergents!

While taking some elderly on a shopping trip to Arundel Spar I saw some bread appearing so rushed to queue. I was mistakenly in the wrong place and was told in no uncertain terms, by the man handing out one tiny loaf each, to get to the back of the queue, which I did. Two lots of bread came and went. I was now 6th in line to get one little loaf for the Granny I was with, when a young Policeman walks to the front, helps himself with not a peep from the serving man or anyone in the queue. Well I went ballistic! The shop came to a standstill. Who does he think he is just because he is in uniform, he should also queue etc etc. He argued that he was working (yeah right) and then stuck his bread under my nose and laughingly said, “if you want bread join the Police”.

The bread was finished and no more was coming. For the next five minutes, people black and white came and said, “well done” which made me even more angry. As I said to them, “why were you silent, why don’t you stand up for your rights?”.

I reiterate: “WHY DON’T ZIMBABWEANS STAND UP?”