Winnie Mandela

by Anné Mariè du Preez Bezdrob

  On Friday 27 January, Dr Asvat was murdered in his surgery by two young men posing as patients. Albertina Sisulu heard a gunshot, heard Asvat scream and saw two youths run out of the consulting room. Cyril Mbatha and Nicholas Dlamini were subsequently convicted of the murder.

  Earlier that morning, the Weekly Mail had carried a report about the meeting in Dobsonville, and the name of Stompie Seipei was first brought to South Africa’s attention. Combined with Asvat’s murder, the media realised there was a major story in the making, and began tracking down the rumours that had been running rife in Soweto for months. On 12 February, the Sunday Star reported that Winnie had been linked to Stompie’s beating. Two days later, his body was identified, and the police opened a murder investigation. Statements by Mono, Kgase and Mekgwe implicated Winnie, Jerry Richardson and Jabu Sithole, and the two men were arrested, along with Xoliswa Falati, her daughter Nomphumelelo and Winnie’s driver, John Morgan.

  On 16 February, Murphy Morobe, publicity secretary of the Mass Democratic Movement (which had replaced the UDF) called a media conference and read a statement expressing outrage at Winnie’s complicity in the abduction and assault of Stompie Seipei who, he said, would have been alive if he and the three other boys had not been abducted by the Mandela United Football Club. The MDM was not prepared to remain silent to protect people who violated human rights in the name of the struggle against apartheid, said Morobe. Oliver Tambo also issued a statement from exile in which he chastised Winnie, though his criticism was more restrained. He expressed sadness at having to voice his reservations about her judgement regarding the football club.

  Winnie’s supporters in Soweto sprang to her defence, declaring her the victim of a vicious smear campaign, most likely orchestrated by her perpetual enemies, the security police.

  By April, with Stompie’s murder still under investigation, Winnie was bumped off the front pages by speculation that her husband’s release was imminent. But there was a major stumbling block: the government insisted that the ANC would first have to renounce the armed struggle, sever ties with the South African Communist Party and abandon the principle of majority rule. Mandela refused, making it clear that only an unconditional release would be accepted.

  Oliver Tambo had declared 1989 the ‘Year of Mass Action for People’s Power’, and political protest became more vigorous, even as PW Botha was losing his grip on the National Party’s forty-year domination of South Africa. To all intents, Mandela’s position had already become that of a man under house arrest, albeit within the confines of a state prison. He was allowed to receive scores of visitors, and on his seventy-first birthday in July, almost every member of his family was present, along with some of his oldest comrades, who were brought from Pollsmoor for the celebrations. Behind the scenes, Oliver Tambo was shuttling between Lusaka, Europe and America to muster international support for the ANC, and working tirelessly to convince the organisation that it should endorse Mandela’s private talks with the apartheid government.

  In one of his last notable acts as head of state, PW Botha finally held a secret meeting with Mandela. Barely a month later, he was forced to resign by his own cabinet, and was succeeded by the more moderate FW de Klerk. On 10 October, the new president announced that Walter Sisulu, Raymond Mhlaba, Ahmed Kathrada, Andrew Mlangeni, Elias Motsoaledi, Jeff Masemola, Wilton Mkwayi and Oscar Mpetha were to be unconditionally released. Five days later, the only senior ANC leader still behind bars was Nelson Mandela.

  On 13 December 1989, the world’s most famous prisoner was driven to Tuynhuys, official Cape Town residence of South Africa’s president, to meet De Klerk. Within six weeks, Africa’s last white tribe would sound the death knell of apartheid.

  17

  Comrade Nomzamo

  AS 1990 DAWNED, excitement about Mandela’s release reached fever pitch. After visiting him on 8 January, Winnie told the media: ‘I don’t think we are talking about months … this is the real thing.’ At the end of the month, she indicated that there were still problems to be solved regarding the unbanning of the ANC, so it was hardly surprising that South Africans on all sides of the political playing field were stunned when FW de Klerk used the opening of parliament on 2 February to demolish forty-two years of apartheid in less than an hour.

  In the time it took for the president to deliver his historic speech, the old South Africa became the new South Africa. The ANC and thirty-one other organisations were unbanned. Political prisoners who had not committed violent crimes would be freed. The execution of prisoners on Death Row was suspended.

  And Nelson Mandela was to be unconditionally released.

  Overnight, symbols, sentiments and individuals that had been hidden in deep shadow for decades became visible everywhere. The ANC flag was hoisted by jubilant supporters, along with the Communist Party’s distinctive red flag bearing the hammer and sickle that had personified white South Africa’s greatest fears and had been used to justify sending tens of thousands of its young men to war. In townships and streets all over the country, those who had toyi-toyied in anger the week before now danced in celebration.

  But as South Africans of all population groups tried to digest the full meaning of the government’s bold move, the world held its breath for an expected backlash against whites. Conservative Namibians who had been preparing to trek across the border and escape life under SWAPO, the former enemy and newly elected government of the neighbouring state, unpacked their bags and took down the ‘For Sale’ signs outside their houses. Former Rhodesians, who had moved south when majority rule came to Zimbabwe, dusted off their passports and began readying themselves to follow the sun to Australia.

  A week after the dramatic announcement, De Klerk summoned Mandela to his office, and told him he would be released in Johannesburg the next day. Mandela stubbornly refused, and said he wanted time for the ANC to prepare his reception, as chaos would erupt if he simply walked out of prison unannounced. He also wanted to be released at Victor Verster, and Winnie had to be present. It was precisely because the government did not want to give the ANC time to organise mass demonstrations and rallies that it had decided to give Mandela so little advance warning of his release date, and there was a tense stand-off between the incumbent and future presidents of South Africa. Eventually, they reached a compromise: Mandela would walk out of the main gates at Victor Verster Prison in Paarl, with Winnie at his side, at 3 pm the next day.

  In anticipation of this momentous event, the ANC had already appointed a national reception committee, but in the end they had less than fifteen hours to arrange Nelson Mandela’s first public appearance as a free man after more than twenty-seven years.

  While Mandela, his lawyers and political advisers worked on his speech, arrangements were hastily made for a top-level ANC delegation, headed by Winnie and Walter Sisulu, to fly to Cape Town on the Sunday morning. The flight was delayed – in Warrant Officer James Gregory’s opinion, deliberately, to give the ANC a little more time to put adequate security for Mandela in place – and by the time Winnie arrived at the prison gate, hundreds of thousands of people had gathered outside and along the route they would take to Cape Town.

  In the mid-1980s, Winnie had said of her marriage to Nelson: ‘I had so little time to love him, and that love has survived all these years of separation.’1 Now, just minutes away from reclaiming her position at his side while the whole world watched, her excitement knew no bounds. She jumped from her car and ran ahead of the others to the house where Madiba was waiting.

  At 4 pm on 11 February 1990, Nelson and Winnie Mandela walked hand in hand into the future. He was genuinely astonished at the scene that awaited them. He had expected a few warders and some journalists, not thousands of well-wishers and hundreds of newspaper, radio and television reporters from every corner of the globe. It was an overwhelming introduction to the media circus that would henceforth follow his every step, and he was momentarily taken aback by all the fuss. But he recovered quickly, and when he raised his ri
ght arm in the Black Power salute, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

  Winnie was radiant, triumphant, and the cheers were as much for her as for Madiba.

  In the heart of Cape Town, hundreds of thousands of people had gathered at the Grand Parade opposite the City Hall, from which Mandela would make his first public address. The sun was setting as he appeared on the balcony overlooking the historic market square, raised his fist and shouted ‘Amandla!’ The city bowl reverberated to the mass response, ‘Ngawethu!’ Then Mandela shouted ‘iAfrika!’ and the crowd roared back: ‘Mayibuye!’ When he removed the pages of his speech from his jacket pocket, he realised that he had left his reading glasses at the prison, and had to borrow Winnie’s. It was a small incident, but rich with symbolism: he would read his first words as a free man through both their eyes.

  But, although he paid tribute by name to a long list of friends and colleagues for their support and contribution to the struggle over the years, he did not single Winnie out. In fact, his only reference to her was an oblique one, when he expressed ‘deep appreciation for the strength given to me during my long and lonely years in prison by my beloved wife and family’, and added: ‘I am convinced that your pain and suffering was far greater than my own.’

  Two days later, after addressing 120 000 people at the First National Bank Stadium in Soweto, Mandela went home to house No. 8115, Orlando West, for the first time in thirty years. The house had been restored after the fire, and an ANC flag was flying proudly outside. The first weeks after his release passed in a blur of visitors, meetings and interviews, and there was no question of Nelson and Winnie taking time off to put their personal life back together. He was reluctant to move to the Diepkloof mansion, saying it was an inappropriate abode for a leader of the people, and that he wanted to live not just among his people, but like them. In all likelihood, he was sincere, but the remark was nevertheless construed as a thinly veiled rebuke for Winnie’s chosen lifestyle. However, with the black cloud of Stompie Seipei’s murder and events surrounding the Mandela United Football Club still hovering, he staunchly defended Winnie against all negative criticism. According to his closest friends, he could never allow himself to forget that Winnie had kept the struggle alive through even the darkest days, and had borne the brunt of the government’s attacks in his absence. Some said he knew she had made serious mistakes, and even suspected she was guilty of some of the allegations against her, while others said he never questioned her innocence. Either way, he remained loyal to her, and expected his friends to do the same – at least until she was convicted.

  In March, the Mandelas went on a tour of Africa, including Zambia, seat of the ANC in exile, Zimbabwe and Namibia, where they attended the independence celebrations on 21 March. Everywhere they went, they were met by large and joyful crowds. In Dar es Salaam, an estimated 500 000 people gathered to welcome Mandela.

  Next, they went to Europe, travelling to Stockholm to visit Oliver Tambo, who was recovering after suffering a stroke, and to London to attend a concert in Mandela’s honour at Wembley Stadium. In June, Winnie and Nelson went to Paris, Switzerland, Italy, the Netherlands and England, then on to America.

  Winnie was still a beautiful woman, and thanks to the media, was more recognisable in some countries than Mandela himself – and perhaps as much of a drawcard for the crowds. For the first time in its history, New York had a black mayor, David N Dinkins, and when the Mandelas came to town, the Big Apple went wild. One million people lined the streets as the Mandelas were accorded New York’s ultimate honour, a ticker-tape parade, a tradition dating back to 1927 when aviator Charles Lindbergh was the first recipient. During their three days in the city they visited Harlem, which Winnie described as the Soweto of America; Brooklyn, where a high school student, Kalil Davis-Manigaulte, had taught 5 000 people to toyi-toyi in their honour; and Yankee Stadium, where 45 000 frenzied fans turned out for a rally and concert.

  The main purpose of the visit was for Mandela to address the UN General Assembly. I was working in New York at the time and, as a South African, was allocated one of the much sought after broadcasting booths, and had the honour of doing a direct radio broadcast from the UN to South Africa and Namibia. At 11.03 am on 22 June, Mandela walked into the massive General Assembly hall to a standing ovation that lasted several minutes. The public gallery was packed, and in his introduction, Secretary General Xavier Perez de Cuellar said Nelson Mandela symbolised the unconquerable spirit of the people of South Africa in their struggle against apartheid. In Mandela’s address, he said it would forever remain a challenge to all men and women of conscience to explain why it took so long to say ‘enough is enough’. Future generations would ask how apartheid could have happened in the aftermath of the Nuremberg Trials, and the world’s determination never again to allow a racist system to exist.

  In the midst of this historic event, I was struck by the level of adulation for Winnie among Americans, notwithstanding months of negative publicity about the Stompie Seipei case. Her long years of harassment and banishment had been well documented by the media, and Americans wanted to honour and show their support for the woman who was widely credited with keeping the liberation struggle alive at enormous personal cost. People told me they had nothing but the highest admiration for her, that she was a courageous fighter for human rights and women’s rights, charismatic and elegant, loved by the downtrodden and oppressed.

  Having eschewed the fashion capitals of Paris and London in favour of shopping in Manhattan for the clothes she needed for the various formal functions, including a purple satin ballgown with beaded bodice for dinner at the White House, Winnie also endeared herself to the American fashion industry. The owner of the elegant Victoria Royal showroom was so dazzled by her charm that he insisted Winnie accept the expensive outfits she chose as a gift.

  Home again, Winnie managed to convince Mandela to move to the Diepkloof house, which she proudly said she had built specially for him. Before long, however, the rumours started again: she was out alone until the early hours of the morning, often returning having had too much to drink. Little more than a week after Mandela’s release, The Star had posed the question: How long can Winnie’s demure image last? Now the media became relentless in its criticism, casting suspicion on her every word and deed.

  The ANC was anxious to find solutions to the problems surrounding Winnie, because they realised that when it came time for all South Africans to go to the polls, they would need her strong and particular appeal to those on the fringes of society. Mandela was burdened with both the multitude of problems facing the country and a simmering marital crisis, but most people appeared oblivious to the tension building between him and Winnie. Friends said he clearly still loved her and saw her as the adoring, supportive wife he had left behind thirty years before. But circumstances had forced Winnie to become independent, to make her own way, and she found it difficult to revert to the pattern of their early years together. Mandela continued to practise the habits of a lifetime, rising before dawn and going to bed early. Winnie, on the other hand, had grown accustomed to staying up late, and, after years of battling insomnia, her routine included a great deal of after-dark activity. Mandela tried to woo her away from what he viewed as undesirable associations, but with little success. It was Fatima Meer who pinpointed the underlying problem. Ironically, during the long years of separation, they had been able to maintain a togetherness, but once they were reunited, both Nelson and Winnie discovered how different – and distant from one another – they had become.

  The weight on Mandela’s shoulders was about to increase, both on the domestic and the political front. On 2 May, the ANC had entered into preliminary talks with the government at Groote Schuur, FW de Klerk’s official Cape Town residence. After three days of intense talks, the government agreed to create a climate conducive to negotiations by lifting the state of emergency, releasing political prisoners and revoking repressive laws. In May, as well, Mandela United Football Club coach Jerry Ric
hardson went on trial for the murder of Stompie Seipei, the attempted murder of Lerotodi Ikaneng, four counts of kidnapping and four counts of assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm. Kenneth Kgase, Thabiso Mono and Pelo Mekgwe testified to Richardson’s role in their abduction, and their attempt to kill Ikaneng on the coach’s orders.

  Winnie was repeatedly implicated in the assaults by the youthful witnesses, but Richardson denied under oath that she had been present or involved. She had not even been at home when Stompie was beaten, he said, having left for Brandfort on 29 December and returning only on 2 January. He insisted that Mono, Kgase and Mekgwe were lying when they said Winnie had assaulted them. Richardson claimed Xoliswa Falati had gone with him to fetch the boys from the manse, that they had gone with them voluntarily, and that on the way to Winnie’s house they were singing and chatting. He admitted punching and slapping all four boys but denied harming them in any other way. He also claimed that he had stabbed Ikaneng in the neck and tried to kill him, and denied telling Mono, Kgase and Mekgwe to cut his throat. He denied killing Stompie, but the evidence suggested otherwise.

  On 24 May, Richardson was found guilty of Stompie’s murder, four counts of kidnapping, four counts of assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm, and one count of attempted murder. Significantly, the judge found that Winnie had been at home for at least part of the day on 29 December, the day after Stompie was taken to her house and first beaten. On 8 August, Richardson was sentenced to death for the murder of Stompie Seipei. He was also sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for the four kidnappings and three for the assaults, with an additional two years for the aggravated assault on Stompie and eight years for the attempted murder of Ikaneng. In mitigation, his defence counsel claimed that he had been influenced by Winnie.