THE LEGACY OF THE MARIKANA MASSACRE,TEN YEARS LATER

A cross of remembrance during the commemoration on 16 August 2016 of the 2012 Marikana massacre in Rustenburg. (Photo: Gallo Images / Sowetan / Antonio Muchave) Maverick Citizen

MOMENT OF TRUTH OP-ED

The legacy of the Marikana massacre, ten years later By Benjamin Fogel 11 Aug 2022 0

For many, the massacre was the moment when the blinkers were removed and the underlying injustices that have stunted the development of South African democracy were revealed in all their brutality.

Listen to this article 0:00 / 8:01 BeyondWords This Op-Ed forms part of “Marikana, 10 Years On”, a one-day symposium which will be held at Constitution Hill in Johannesburg on 20 August from 12pm to 6.30pm. If one were to pick a moment when the narrative of post-apartheid South Africa as a nation, for all its faults, generally stumbling forward in the right direction ended; no moment stands out as clearly as the Marikana massacre, when on 16 August 2012, 34 striking mineworkers were gunned down by the police on live TV. In the week preceding the massacre, 10 others had been killed. Over the 10 years since the massacre, the country has become poorer, more violent and divided. GDP per capita has declined from just over $8,000 to under $7,000, unemployment is now close to 50%, the basic functions of government have collapsed in much of the country, the labour movement has grown weaker and more divided, and the threat of political violence to activists is ever more apparent. Join the 230 000 South Africans who read First Thing newsletter. Each week that passes in South Africa seems to bring with it a report of some new atrocity, from mass tavern shootings to xenophobic attacks and political assassinations. Last year’s July insurrection reflected that the country faces a growing threat posed by mass unrest, political mafias and right-wing ethno-nationalist politics (most notably by a slate of black majority parties) which the state is evidently ill-equipped to manage; in large part because the influence of these mafias extends across all levels of government. But what does this all have to do with Marikana? If one were to ask, how did we get to the South Africa of 2022 after State Capture, following the absurdly corrupt and brutal Covid lockdown regulations, the July insurrection, the Life Esidimeni tragedy, and suffering regular blackouts and with a burnt-out hollow shell where there used to be our Parliament? Marikana is a good place to begin. Marikana was the moment when the core institutions of South African democracy — not just limited to the state — failed. It was the worst massacre of its kind under the democratic order, in which the police — who belonged to Cosatu, the same trade union federation as many of the striking mineworkers — shot and killed striking workers under the auspices of the ANC government that promised a better future for workers. An atrocity that was defended by Cosatu leaders and the SA Communist Party. In the aftermath of the atrocity, with some notable exceptions, our civil society — from NGOs to media, social movements and trade unions — failed to hold the government to account or even provide meaningful solidarity with the victims of the massacre, either opting for silence or in some cases actively reproducing the state’s justifications. The failure of much of the South African media remains even more apparent, given that the killings were broadcast on live television. The core institutions of our democracy, from the National Prosecuting Authority to Parliament, failed to hold the government and police to account, even after an inquiry found that former police commissioner Riah Phiyega should be held responsible for the deaths of the 34 mineworkers. Since 2012, no police officer has been charged for any of the shootings. If anything, the police are more violent and incompetent than ever. Instead, it took the work of a few dedicated journalists and researchers for the actual story of what happened that day to be revealed to the public. It took even longer for the documentary Miners Shot Down and the findings of the Farlam Commission to change public consciousness about what transpired on 16 August 2012. Political amnesia Marikana stands out as one of the political moments in South Africa that has fallen victim to the plague of political amnesia that stalks the country, as the warring factions of the ANC use it as a weapon for their internal struggles: members of the pro-Jacob Zuma Radical Economic Transformation faction use it to attack President Cyril Ramaphosa, despite the fact that the massacre occurred under Zuma’s watch. Others still refer to it as though it was some sort of natural disaster, a tragedy that ultimately nobody was responsible for. Ten years later, justice remains elusive for most survivors of Marikana. While 35 families have been paid compensation of approximately R70-million, a larger group of more than 300 miners who were injured during the shooting rampage are still trying to claim compensation of R1-billion. In a recent development, the high court ruled that Ramaphosa could be found liable for the events that led up to the massacre for his role as a Lonmin director. However, proving civil liability will be up to the mineworkers to try to accomplish in court. There is also the ongoing trial of former North West deputy police commissioner Major-General William Mpembe and other police officers for the murder of five people at Marikana on 13 August 2012. Mpembe and his colleagues face five counts of murder and attempted murder as well as contravening the Commissions Act for giving false information during the Farlam Commission. But 10 years later, public interest has all but dissipated and the old legal maxim could not be truer: justice delayed is justice denied. While political battles are waged through protracted court proceedings, the workers of the Platinum Belt in North West face ongoing exploitation, dysfunctional government, political violence (at least 22 workers have been murdered since the massacre), material deprivation and the predatory lending schemes of mashonisas (loan sharks) and payday loan companies. For many, including myself, the massacre was the moment when the blinkers were removed and the underlying injustices that have stunted the development of South African democracy were revealed in all their brutality. The lack of public outrage in the wake of the massacre and the absence of mass protests and solidarity remain a cause of shame for the country. The indifference of the public became even starker even as the workers of the Platinum Belt embarked on one of the largest wildcat strikes in our history, and in 2014-2015 would win the longest strike in South African history. Marikana has come to serve as a potent symbol of resistance for the South African working class, employed by protesting students, striking workers and community protests. The Marikana strikes went on to influence and inspire other workers’ movements outside the Platinum Belt, like the farmworker strikes in De Doorns in the Western Cape in 2012-13 which galvanised more than 9,000 participants in their mission to improve their working conditions. The lesson of Marikana is that even under the most difficult circumstances effective mobilisation and organisation are possible — workers across the Platinum Belt opted to join and expand the strike rather than mourn silently or surrender. It is this extraordinary moment that provides a rallying cry for those who still wish to see a more just and equal South Africa. DM Benjamin Fogel is a PhD candidate in Latin American history at New York University and a Jacobin contributing editor. Fogel is one of the organisers of “Marikana, 10 Years On”, a one-day symposium at Constitution Hill in Johannesburg on 20 August from 12pm to 6.30pm. The symposium will also be streamed online. The event is presented by Africa Is a Country, with support from Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung (Southern African Office). Logistical details will be posted at http://africasacountry.com

FROM DAILY MAVERICK 25 MARCH 2020

ANALYSIS: FACTS V. QUACKS

Comparing the government responses to #Covid19 under Ramaphosa and #HIV under Mbeki

By Mia Malan for the Bhekisisa Centre for Health Journalism• 25 March 2020

Thabo Mbeki and Cyril Ramaphosa. Photo composite supplied by Bhekisisa

Reporting on Covid-19 and HIV in South Africa is like night and day, says a writer who has reported on both epidemics.

It’s the day after the plane containing our repatriates from Wuhan has landed, when Cyril Ramaphosa declares a National State of Disaster in the country, in front of a blaring television in my lounge, when it hits me: Nowhere am I able to see a single activist venting vociferously against the government.

No Zackie Achmats, Fatima Hassans, Vuyiseka Dubulas, Edwin Camerons or Mark Heywoods standing firmly at the ready to contradict the President. No demonstrators spread-eagled across burning tar, playing dead alongside placards pleading for medicine and for the state to use evidence-based strategies to combat an epidemic.

No health minister screeching “Traitors!” at scientists and journalists who disagree with her denial of science and her refusal to provide people with life-saving treatment.

No pontifications about potatoes, beetroot, lemon and garlic as excellent means to protect people from a potentially fatal virus.

Instead we have a president taking responsibility, surrounded by his sober Cabinet, announcing: “It is up to us to determine how long [this epidemic] will last, how damaging it will be and how long it will take our economy and our country to recover.”

An Aids epidemic did not exist, the duo insisted

I was a young reporter when former President Thabo Mbeki and his Health Minister, Manto Tshabalala-Msimang, shocked the world when they denied the link between HIV and Aids.

The virus, they argued, was not the cause of Aids. An Aids epidemic did not, in fact, exist, the duo insisted; it was all down to poverty. They also posited a range of conspiracy theories, including that HIV was manufactured in a lab somewhere in the West.

It was a truly tumultuous point in the history of our then young democracy.
If you were a dedicated health journalist during the late 1990s or early 2000s, you were basically a full-time Aids reporter. You spent your workdays recording Mbeki’s and Tshabalala-Msimang’s quackish HIV statements, which you then took to credible scientists and activists to correct by way of contradictory comments.

That, of course, was, if you DID disagree with the government.

But there were some in the media who either agreed with the president and the health minister, or could not muster the courage to oppose them. It was all about politics, and power.

HIV had become a political football, and with political leaders suggesting that a condition, which was killing hundreds of thousands, was simultaneously a hoax and something that had been manufactured by a demonic pharmaceutical industry, the issue transcended the realm of health. That meant that political and business journalists, also often editors-in-chief, joined the debate – and they chose sides that were mostly determined by politics, not science.

There was confusion all round, with mixed messages the order of the day.
I know this to be so, because I worked for the state broadcaster at the time, and the South African Broadcasting Corporation was a fierce supporter of the Mbeki government. Like many of my colleagues, I had to fight to get my stories, which more often than not presented opinions and facts that contradicted the president, aired.
  
Against the background of South Africa’s hard-fought-for young democracy at the time, disagreement with the president – and in essence taking the side of Western science – about the cause of a condition that was destroying the country, was frequently viewed as anti-democratic and even racist.

So, journalists, scientists and activists who opposed HIV quackery were “anti-Mbeki people”, not just mere supporters of science.

We were the enemy.

‘Shut up and listen!’

At the first International Aids Conference that was held on South African soil, in 2000, in Durban, the animosity was on open display amid the grandeur of the five-star Hilton Hotel, when the health minister reprimanded two world-renowned HIV scientists whose research appeared regularly in prestigious peer-reviewed scientific journals.

Tshabalala-Msimang ordered Salim Abdool Karim, now the head of the Centre for the Aids Programme of Research, Caprisa, and Hoosen Coovadia, then from the University of Kwazulu-Natal, to a luxury room where she chastised them in front of Health MECs and other politicians.

Both were respected health activists who had fought for equal access to healthcare for all races during apartheid.

“You’re disloyal! Traitors!” Abdool Karim remembers her screaming at them. “What you are doing is equal to treason to our country!”

Their sin was that they had been publicly defending HIV as the cause of Aids and advocating for access to antiretroviral treatment (labelled “poisonous” by Tshabalala-Msimang) for HIV-positive  South Africans. 

But when the two scientists tried to defend themselves, Abdool Karim recalls, Thabalala-Msimang interrupted them and yelled: “Shut up and listen!”

HIV stories – and scientists themselves – were filled with conflict

Twenty years later, after a decade of State Capture, and on the brink of another epidemic – Covid-19 – Abdool Karim received a call from the current health minister, Zweli Mkhize.

Mkhize was seeking advice, asking the scientist: “How do you think we can slow the spread” of the new coronavirus, known as SARS-Cov-2.

Says Abdool Karim: “With the coronavirus, our experience with government is exactly the opposite [of what we endured during the Mbeki and Tshabalala-Msimang era]. The minister has been contacting us, he wants to involve us, he is seeking the opposite of what Mbeki and Tshabalala-Msimang wanted.”

Abool Karim serves on a special Covid-19 committee. It advises the president on what actions to take. “With HIV we were so slack with taking things up, we delayed mother-to-child-prevention of HIV and access to antiretroviral treatment. But with Covid-19 we’re proactive and we’re acting early,” he says.
The consequences – in the form of more than 300,000 unnecessary HIV-related deaths, according to a Harvard University study – of the time the government took to respond to science, are unfortunately permanent.

As a result of the government’s contrasting responses, reporting on HIV and Covid-19 in South Africa as a journalist is like night and day. With one of the epidemics, activists and scientists were mostly our only sources of information, and the government the ones who blocked access to data. In the case of HIV, study after study has shown how conflict – one of the strongest news values – was a central theme in stories on the subject because of activists and government being played off against each other; but it often resulted in stories being repetitive, rather than meaningful.

With Covid-19, those same HIV activists who fought the government are now supporting and praising Cyril Ramaphosa’s early, evidence-based interventions. And the health ministry, which previously cut journalists off, has set up a media WhatsApp group through which the latest figures, as they become available, are posted directly to journalists’ phones. The system isn’t perfect – press releases have been retracted a few times because they contained the wrong figures – but the point is: there is a system that allows for a free flow of information. And when mistakes are made, the government has acknowledged them.

There’s even a data-free website and a public WhatsApp service that has so far been used by well over 2 million people, according to the health department. 

Is the ANC using its great power for good with Covid-19?

And, it seems, the ANC is, at this moment in history, using its great power for good – for state protection rather than State Capture. When the ANC Youth League in Limpopo, for instance, threatened the “mother of all marches” in the province after it was announced that the quarantine site for the Wuhan repatriates was going to be in the outskirts of Polokwane, Zweli Mkhize — a powerful man in the ANC — shushed them and crushed their plans very swiftly.
After the Wuhan plane landed he took to his Twitter handle to post a video branded with an “ANC Limpopo” logo to welcome the repatriates.

The government has been calling the media its “partners” in the fight against Covid-19. To the ears of someone who reported on HIV in South Africa in the 1990s and 2000s, that has been pretty surreal. I’m sure the “partners” thing has seemed equally strange to those in the media who’ve been reporting on State Capture and government corruption.

Okay, enough Kumbaya for now: As a journalist and editor, I of course am well aware of how rapidly this newfound “partnership” could end. But for now, it’s happening. We’re all in it together, on the same side. For now, I’m witnessing true leadership from the ANC.

We can’t stop this virus from spreading, but we can slow down the pace at which it spreads, to help our health system cope.

We’re moving into lockdown, testing sites are increasing, there are contact tracing teams, quarantine sites-in-the-making and relatively good communication systems that will hopefully prevent panic.

Yet, sadly, the ANC government’s criminal inaction two decades ago is likely to have a bearing on South Africa’s ability to combat Covid-19 successfully: We now have one of the highest HIV infection rates in the world, something that could have been prevented if we had put people on treatment earlier.

Our latest household survey shows that four out of 10 people with HIV are still not on treatment, which increases the chances that their immune systems are weak and potentially vulnerable to attacks from viruses such as SARS-CoV-2.
Lessons don’t emerge only from other countries. With regards to Covid-19 and our response in the coming weeks and months and maybe even years, our own history just may be our greatest teacher. DM

This story was first published by the Bhekisisa Centre for Health Journalism.
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MARIKANA, SEVEN YEARS ON

Another year, another Marikana commemoration – but betrayal, neglect and injustice are still there

By Greg Nicolson, Chanel Retief and Yanga Sibembe• 16 August 2019

Photo: Lonmin employees gather on a hill called Wonderkop at Marikana. (Greg Marinovich)

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‘They say in this country we’re free, but only some are free, others are not. A policeman has the power to kill and it’s not a big deal. Justice is not a real thing. I have not seen it.'

Zameka Nungu on Wednesday stirred pap on the stove in between washing dishes in her two-bedroom apartment in Karee Hostel, Marikana. An Amcu calendar was pinned to the wall.

It was Nungu’s day off from her job cleaning the K3 shaft at Lonmin, the platinum giant recently taken over by Sibanye-Stillwater, the same shaft where her husband Jackson Lehupa worked before he was shot by police 11 times — in his back, shoulder, thighs, buttock, groin and feet — on 16 August 2012.
Life has changed for Nungu in the seven years since the Marikana massacre. Her children lost their father and she had to move from Mount Fletcher, Eastern Cape, to the platinum belt to take up a job working for the same company many believed was complicit in her husband’s murder.
There has been one constant since the day SAPS officers killed 34 striking mineworkers, with 78 more injured at the scene of the massacre — the feeling of betrayal, neglect and injustice.

Police officers open fire on striking mineworkers outside the Nkageng informal settlement on August 16, 2012 in North West, South Africa.  (Photo by Gallo Images / Foto24 / Felix Dlangamandla)

Since then, there have been a handful of actions taken to achieve accountability and improve the livelihoods of mineworkers and the Marikana community. They have largely come in spite of, and not because of, efforts from government, the platinum company and SAPS.
“They say in this country we’re free, but only some are free, others are not. A policeman has the power to kill and it’s not a big deal. Justice is not a real thing. I have not seen it,” said Nungu.

 

Police officers open fire on striking mineworkers outside the Nkageng informal settlement on August 16, 2012 in North West, South Africa. (Photo by Gallo Images / Foto24 / Felix Dlangamandla)

Mineworker Mlungiseleli Makhatshwe, who still wonders how he survived the police onslaught while he was part of the strike seven years ago, said:
“It pains me that no one has been held accountable for what happened, that the police who were responsible have never been held accountable. There are families who lost loved ones. I also lost my comrades. It’s very difficult because these policemen are free, but us as mineworkers are still oppressed.”
Eight police officers face criminal charges in the North West High Court. They were charged in 2018 for concealing how one injured miner was left to die in a police vehicle on 16 August 2012 and for causing the chaos on 13 August 2012 that led to the killing of two SAPS officers and three mineworkers.
Activists have welcomed the charges, but they are related to the five deaths on 13 August — a gruesome precursor to the massacre — and appear hard to prove, a strange first step for the NPA, which has evidence from the two-year Marikana Commission of Inquiry of more direct failures in SAPS leadership on 16 August as well as cases of cold-blooded murder.

 

Mineworkers gather to plan a way forward near the Nkaneng informal settlement on 14 August 2012 after clashes at Lonmin’s Marikana mine claimed nine lives. The gathering happened two days before the Marikana massacre. (Photo: Gallo Images / Foto24 / Felix Dlangamandla)

While the cops aren’t the only ones to blame, they have been the most successful in avoiding accountability. Ten people were killed in the week leading up to the massacre. The Marikana Inquiry failed to make conclusive findings, but it heard arguments that striking mineworkers killed two SAPS officers and two mine security guards in the week leading up to the massacre. Three mineworkers thought to be against the strike were also killed.
Until the SAPS officers were recently charged for issues largely unrelated to the massacre, however, accountability has only gone one way. Hundreds of striking mineworkers were initially charged for causing SAPS to kill their own comrades and 17 mineworkers have long faced charges for the violence in the week leading to the massacre. Like the other dependents of those killed, Nungu only became a part of the violence once her husband was slaughtered. She still wants to know the truth about what happened and to see the culprits charged. She also wants the state to pay her and the other widows and their dependents the compensation they deserve.

 

Lonmin employees gather on a hill called Wonderkop at Marikana, outside Rustenburg in the North West Province of South Africa August 15.  (Photograph by Greg Marinovich)

“There is a narrative out there that the president compensated the families of the slain miners. However, we have only received a portion of what we were promised,” she said.
“We’re not saying money will replace the void left by the death of our husbands, or that it will erase the pain, but it would be something to show that government cares about us.”
In 2018, the government agreed to pay compensation for loss of support to the families of those who were killed. The families are arguing they should be paid R1.5-million each for the pain they suffered beyond losing their breadwinners. Those injured are still fighting to receive any compensation.

In the wake of the massacre, Lonmin offered jobs to the family members of the deceased and offered to pay the school fees for their children, education which at least one report has suggested is sub-par.
Living conditions were a major driver behind the 2012 strike and Lonmin committed to improvements such as upgrading single-sex hostels for workers to bachelor and family units, but Marikana residents complain that little has changed, either for workers or the surrounding community still dependent on the economy generated by the mine.

 

Lonmin employees gather on a hill called Wonderkop at Marikana, outside Rustenburg in the North West Province of South Africa August 15, 2018. Photo by Greg Marinovich

Local activist Wiseman Dibakwe, who has worked for a nearby mine since 2013, said:
“The 2012 massacre could have been something that is teaching the government, the mines, the community, the municipality that they must get together, they must come with a solution to solve, eradicate poverty, unemployment.”
“Go around the location, you’ll see the community are suffering that because they believed that one day things will be right, but since the whole years that I’ve been staying here I’ve never seen any progress.”

The 2012 strikes, first at Impala Platinum and then Lonmin, focused on the fight for a living wage, a basic salary of R12,500 a month. Salaries in the platinum sector have since moved closer to that goal, but workers say those increases aren’t yet making a significant difference in their lives.
“After the strike, there was a change. We were able to earn a slightly better salary. Though even today we haven’t reached that R12,500, which we were promised in the aftermath of the strike, but at least it’s a bit better,” said mineworker Austin Mofokeng, who was part of the 2012 strike. “The working conditions can only improve when our employer takes us seriously. For example, when we’re underground, they could have a doctor or nurse nearby so that if there is an emergency (we) can get medical assistance as soon as possible.”

 

Photo by Greg Marinovich

Demands in Marikana often centre on two institutions. The first is the mining company. The community wants it to help improve services and boost the local economy, while workers want decent living standards and improved wages and conditions. But after Sibanye-Stillwater recently took over Lonmin, many workers just want to avoid potential job losses and uncertainty as they continue to fight for better wages in current negotiations.
The second is the government and its leader, President Cyril Ramaphosa, who was accused of causing the massacre when he called for “concomitant action” during the 2012 strike while he was a Lonmin shareholder. “The government hasn’t even come to us, even when president Zuma was in power, he never once came to Marikana to apologise for what had happened in his country. Zuma is no longer in office and there is a new president, Cyril Ramaphosa. He too has never come to see us. Plus, if there is one person who knows what happened at Marikana, it’s him,” said Nungu in her workers’ quarters.
It’s unlikely Ramaphosa will ever visit, despite his commitments. The president rarely faces criticism over Marikana after the commission of inquiry found he was not the cause of the massacre and the plight of the workers and community has largely disappeared from the public eye.

It also appears unlikely that there will be any significant moves towards achieving justice or developing the community soon, despite ongoing efforts from a committed group of lawyers and activists.

“My life was great when my husband was around,” said Nungu, who now has to fill her husband’s shoes at the mine in order to provide for her children.
“I only agreed to this job because I didn’t really have a choice, I needed the money. So I agreed to take up my husband’s space, even though it was difficult”. DM

Mama Winnie honoured, at last

 

By Greg Nicolson• 14 April 2018

Nomzamo Winnie Madikizela-Mandela has left Orlando for the last time. Committing to her spirit of strength and defiance, speakers at her funeral on Saturday vowed to honour her legacy by fighting the many falsehoods that saw her sidelined.

 By GREG NICOLSON.

The heavens opened and the rain started falling moments before SANDF officials raised Mama Winnie’s coffin, draped in the South African flag, to take her on her final journey.


Tens of thousands of mourners at Orlando Stadium rose to bid farewell to the Mother of the Nation.

Photo: Mourners gather at the Orlando Stadium to pay tribute to Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. Photo: Leila Dougan.
 
Debate has raged over Madikizela-Mandela’s legacy since the 81-year-old passed away on 2 April in Johannesburg. The debates, and complexities of the struggle icon are set to continue. But on Saturday, her family and comrades used her funeral to both celebrate her enormous contribution to the anti-apartheid struggle and hit out against those who campaigned against her.


“It is difficult to accept that she is no longer with us,” cried her daughter Zenani Dlamini, “because she was always so strong.” Dlamini struggled to speak before giving a moving speech honouring the example her mother set for women. The crowd, which included former presidents Jacob Zuma, Kgalema Motlanthe and Thabo Mbeki, roared in approval.

Former president Jacob Zuma attends Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s funeral. Photo: Leila Dougan.
“Long before it was fashionable to call for Nelson Mandela’s release from Robben Island it was my mother who kept his memory alive,” she said, thanking the many young women who have pledged solidarity with Madikizela-Mandela since her passing.


“Like her, you show that we can be beautiful, powerful and revolutionary, even as we challenge the lies that have been peddled for so long,” she said, referring to her mother being sidelined by the ANC and much of society for her radicalism.


Apartheid security agents have gone on the record revealing the extent of their propaganda campaign against Madikizela-Mandela. Her supporters have continued to correct claims that she was responsible for the 1989 death of Stompie Seipei. She also faced heavy criticism for her infidelity while married to former President Nelson Mandela, which her daughter said would have been ignored were she a man.

“As each of them disavowed these lies, I had to ask myself – why have they sat on the truth had wait until my mother’s death to tell it?” She warned the “hypocrites” who hid the truth and marginalised her mother. “Don’t think for a minute that we’ve forgotten,” she said. Madikizela-Mandela’s contribution to the struggle must be honoured as we rediscover her history, she added.

ANC supporters made up most of the crowd at the packed Orlando Stadium, but a significant number of EFF supporters attended the funeral. EFF leader Julius Malema, who was close to the political icon, said Stompie’s mother was in the audience as were Madikizela-Mandela’s critics who distanced themselves from her and the actions of her Mandela United Football Club.

EFF leader Julius Malema arrives at the Orlando stadium. Photo: Leila Dougan

“Sell-outs, we see you,” roared Malema. “We mention these instances just to make them aware, we know what they did to you,” he said, claiming her detractors were weeping while failing to acknowledge their actions. Malema said she asked him to return to the ANC but he responded, “But which ANC do we go to?”

President Cyril Ramaphosa apologised that it had taken so long for the ANC to honour Madikizela-Mandela. “I’m sorry mama that we delayed this much,” he said, delivering the eulogy. He said he would request the ANC to confer its highest honour on her.

“As we bid her farewell we are forced to admit that as Mama Winnie rose, she rose alone. Too often we were not there for her as she tried to rise,” he said. Recalling a recent conversation with her daughter Zenani Dlamini, he said she cried when she said her mother had lived a difficult life.

“Zenani’s tears revealed Mama Winnie’s wounds.”

“Mama Winnie’s life was about service, service to her people. It was a life of compassion,” said the president. Speaking on Madikizela-Mandela’s sustained activism while many ANC members were in prison or in exile, he said, “She felt compelled to pick up a spear that had fallen. It was a spear that throughout the darkest moments of our struggle she wielded with great courage.”

Ramaphosa said she defied apartheid ideology and male superiority. “She exposed the lie of apartheid.” He continued, “Yet through everything Mama Winnie endured they could not break her, they could not silence her.”

Responding to Malema, the president said, “The wounds you are talking about are real wounds but today is the time to heal those wounds.” Madikizela-Mandela had wanted him to visit Marikana, the site of the 2012 massacre, with Malema and Ramaphosa said he would go with the young firebrand “to heal the wounds”.

The funeral brought together political foes, the ANC and EFF and the stadium reverberated as they sang in praise of Ma’ Winnie, although most EFF supporters left after Malema’s speech. EFF leaders encouraged their members to act with discipline during the funeral.

EFF supporters join ANC members to pay tribute to Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. Photo: Leila Dougan

ANC politicians such as Gwede Mantashe, David Makhura, Bathabile Dlamini and Jeff Radebe also addressed the funeral that included performances by Thandiswa Mazwai, Zonke and Sipho “Hotstix” Mabuse. Model Naomi Campbell was a surprise speaker.

Madikizela-Mandela was largely remembered for defiantly standing up to the apartheid government and relentlessly pushing the ANC’s struggle for freedom. She was persecuted by the government and suffered imprisonment, torture and banishment as she was the strongest ANC voice within the country during the struggle.

Grandson Zondwa Mandela spoke of everyday heroes and said her spirit lives on in women who strive to carve out a livelihood. “She was one of us. She was one of you. She was one of the people. She was just a woman who dared to survive.”

Family members, President Cyril Ramaphosa and dignitaries walk beside the casket of the late stalwart, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela as it is led out of Orlando stadium. 14 April 2018. Photo: Leila Dougan

Madikizela-Mandela’s coffin left Orlando Stadium accompanied by a military parade for Fourways Memorial Park where she was due to be buried in a private ceremony next to her great-granddaughter Zenani Mandela.

The funeral procession leaves the Orlando Stadium. Photo: Leila Dougan.

Ramaphosa finished on Saturday: “She lives on in all of us. She inspires our actions. She guides our struggles. She remains our conscience. May her soul rest in eternal peace. May her spirit live forever.” DM

Main Photo: The casket carrying the body of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela is led out of Orlando stadium as it begins to rain, on 14 April 2018. Photo: Leila Dougan