BM: I am interested in the fact that you reference two African American writers, Audre Lorde and James Baldwin. They may not be available to the majority of black and African people who do not have access to the material and tools that we do. How do you negotiate the unique space that you occupy as a born-free who has lived a middle-class life and is active in building solidarity with people deprived even of the little power and space that you have and occupy? Put differently, what type of black future are the Fallist movements, who are largely born-free middle-class people, whose imagination may not be available for someone in rural KwaZulu Natal, agitating for?
PC: First, I disagree with the idea that a rural black person does not have the same imagination and tools. It’s an elitist assumption. I would argue that those people who have been the most dispossessed have a much clearer vision of what decolonisation means and what the future can be than those of us who have been sucked in and incorporated into white liberal South Africa. We are the ones with a lot of delusions. Someone in a rural area may not quote Franz Fanon and Steve Biko, but I do not think that is necessary at all. For example, if my grandmother is an oppressed person, she knows she is landless. She does not need I Write What I Like or The Wretched of the Earth to say that she is oppressed. It is a very basic fact. Decolonisation is also about decolonising the assumption of the hierarchy of knowledge. I do not see us as the middle class as the best placed to create a vision. The only advantage or positioning we have is the close proximity to whiteness and therefore greater access to the resources to do some of these things. Beyond that, there is no big difference. There is some difference, but I would not place that in a hierarchy.
All my work as a writer has to do specifically with the black condition, the black woman’s condition and theorising about and speaking to black liberation; black revolution
Second, to answer the question on the kind of future we envisage, I think any person who gave you an answer, saying ‘this is the kind of black future’, would be lying. No one knows what that future looks like. We do not know what we do not know. I do not know what I would have been like had it not been for colonisation. I do not know what I would be like had it not been for patriarchy. Anyone who is speaking with certainty about that is lying or has no idea of the enormity of what they are doing. This is a 500-year-old system of oppression. Some people become reductionist in their ideas of what decolonisation means.
For me, the best way to think about decolonisation is to refer to the 2016 Time of the Writer festival. The theme was ‘Decolonising the Book’ and the first evening was opened by a jazz performance. I thought it was really important and symbolic that they did that because jazz has a particular history within the world of global blackness, specifically transatlantic blackness. Jazz is about being comfortable with uncertainty. You drop a notch and pick a notch. It is about improvisation, without being in free fall. That is how I think about decolonisation. There are particular principles; a commitment to the social, economic and political freedom of black people. We want black people to own land. That is basic. We want a country where we can be free to speak our indigenous languages in a substantive way. Whether at university and other academic spaces, we want them to be free of all kinds of prejudices and structural oppression. Like Fela Kuti says, who no know, go know.
BM: That is such a beautiful answer. My next question is a cheeky one and feel free not to answer it. When writing the character Tsitsi in Sweet Medicine, did you think of Grace Mugabe? Is there any way the character is connected to Zimbabwe’s first lady?
PC: You are the first person to ask me that question. The long and short of it is, yes. I am very pleased that you asked that because there are so many things that hinted at it in the book yet many people missed it, but maybe it is still early days! It is interesting to me that the Mugabe connection has not been made. Perhaps it is also a good thing because sometimes books about Zimbabwe can end up being thinly veiled political treatises. It is also good if you just relate to the story as a story, rather than match it up against reality, particularly an anti-ZANU, anti-Mugabe sentiment.
It was important for me to render the characters fully in their own right, rather than writing a story about Zimbabwe. For me, Zimbabwe is a vehicle to talk about characters, rather than characters being a vehicle to talk about Zimbabwe. I guess it is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I am happy that someone picked it up. On the other hand, I take it as a compliment that people have not seen the novel too much through the lens of the political and the real.
BM: Thank you, Panashe.