Language and the politics of power

Pula Mokoena

The challenge in the history of human existence has never been a need to communicate less; if anything, we seek to communicate more and better. On average, many of us use about 16,000 words a day. From the invention of the telegram and telephone to the modern cellphone, we continue to strive for more ways to get our thoughts, opinions, and ideas across.

Communication has evolved and improved over time. We all want to connect, to be heard, and to be understood. Within this communication lies a desperate need for comprehension, which is, at its core, an exercise of power. When you are understood, you get more done, your values are better integrated, and your vision is more effectively implemented.

In 2014, Julius Malema made the controversial statement: “If you don’t know my language, you don’t know me.” This sent shockwaves through our supposedly diverse and beautiful “Rainbow Nation.” Malema’s statement challenged the status quo and knocked on doors of power that had been jammed and sealed shut. The reality was that many people you might have called “friends” could not have been friends in the truest sense, because they could only understand you to a certain limit. They only understood you as well as you could express yourself to them—often in a language that was second or third to you, and one you did not know as well.

As our democracy matures, more Black people are becoming comfortable communicating how they feel, even if only a few can understand. We are transitioning into a time where doing so has no bearing on one’s livelihood or social status. Recently, a flight took off from Johannesburg with a group of Economic Freedom Fighter (EFF) supporters who decided to sing on the plane. Circulating videos of the incident caused an uproar and sparked conversation everywhere, including on the radio. Commentary ranged from, “I can’t believe they did that; it was unsafe,” to “I absolutely loved it; it displayed the color of our country.” It seemed to me that many of those aggrieved by the singing were simply people who did not know what was being sung and could not sing along.

As our democracy grows, I hope our propensity for discourse grows with it. This “song on a flight” saga has brought an interesting question to the fore: If Nelson Mandela’s statement—”If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head; if you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart”—is true, then did those who didn’t sing fail to connect to the heart? South Africa is a place of song; South Africans sing for everything, and this was no exception.

Would it be fair, then, to conclude that this is another area where effort is expected from Black people to connect to the heart, but not necessarily from white people? Black people are expected to be bilingual, speaking both their mother tongue and English. They are the ones tasked with connecting to those who speak their language and those who don’t. Yet, if they dare to be comfortable enough to express themselves in a language others don’t understand, there is an uproar and a nationwide debate.

Many responded to the debate by noting other instances where singing occurred on planes without a similar backlash—such as when South Africa returned from the Olympics with a gold medal or after winning the Rugby World Cup. Perhaps those songs were seen as more “inclusive” sing-alongs. However, the effort for reconciliation in South Africa still seems to lie primarily with Black people. There is a sense that white people move very little toward Black people, while Black people move in strides toward white people. I say this because there were many people on that flight who were not EFF supporters but sang along anyway, while others simply enjoyed the music.

Black South Africans want to be understood. They do not want to explain themselves where explanations are unnecessary, and they want the pleasure of being communicated to in the language of their heart. If there is a song, it should be in a language we all understand—which means we all need to make the effort to learn. If you don’t understand the language, do not be offended that it was chosen for communication that day. Do not find fault in the person singing a song you don’t understand; instead, see the fault in yourself for not knowing the language to begin with. If you do not speak any South African languages outside of English or Afrikaans, it might be fair to say you have no interest in deepening our democratic expression—that it only works for you when it is comfortable. May that be not so.

Pula Mokoena is a Johannesburg-based radio journalist, writer, project manager, and media specialist with experience across broadcast and print media. He contributes to written articles and long-form storytelling, alongside his work in radio production and strategic communication.