This week South Africans were unexpectedly reminded of the ability of the arts to build collective consciousness and power. During preparations for their second Women’s World Cup match in New Zealand, Banyana Banyana blessed the nation with a rendition of a gwijo, a song, Athandwe. Capturing the hearts and imagination of South African supporters, the team filled their locker room and our TikTok algorithms with a heartfelt and melodic love song. Athandwe has nothing to do with soccer.
It is not a song about going to battle on the field. It is not a song of struggle. It is a long song. A collective love song sung in unison, with a gentle but strong call to action to go forward together. Its effect, however, was that many people who never supported Banyana Banyana before are now watching the team, naming the players and felt attached to their cause to win.
What was so powerful about this singing that it rippled through the nation and animated our support as people? It is art building consciousness and power.
Like politics, music is most powerful when done as a collective.
When people sing together it is not only the meaning of the lyrics that brings them together, but also the patience and care that it takes to hear each other, find a common voice and feel connected as melodies meet each other in the air and marry the expressions of each distinct voice into a single harmony that make the individuals indistinguishable.
The individual still matters in the collective expression, but matters not for its own beauty or purpose, it matters for the betterment of the collective effort. No one can be left behind. If one person misses a beat or goes off tune, it affects the whole. Making music together is a physical reminder that we all matter in the making of better presents and futures.
Similarly to music bringing supporters closer to a soccer team, the arts have historically been central to South African politics, uniting masses of people to share common ideas and to connect at deeper and profoundly human levels in the course of struggle. The ANC’s long tradition of struggle songs lives on in the organisation today.
The EFF in its lead up to and culmination of its 10th birthday celebration doubled down on its connection to that tradition by using the arts to not only amplify its message but draw people into the party. Beyond the grand flex of numbers at rallies, the EFF put on a theatre play about its organisation, released another jazz hour album and hosted an elaborate music concert at its birthday celebration.
It will be one of the legacies of the EFF that it uses art to build power. The much talked about moment when Julius Malema ascended into the air on a raised stage at an FNB stadium packed to capacity, was a moment of collective art. Malema was the centre subject of the art piece, but that moment would have been nothing without the throngs of people in the background of every picture taken.
The moment would have had less impact without the energy and cheering of people in the stadium. In that moment Julius was not powerful because of his personal leadership traits, his power in that moment was collectively created by the people in that stadium. It was a power that was undeniable.
As memorable as Banyana Banyana’s song was, or the EFF’s picture perfect raised stage was, the power of the arts must be more than heart-warming or entertaining. That power must transcend the moments of song, dance or spectacle and translate into energy for action to drive change. We may lose faith in people’s power if Banyana Banyana do not translate that sense of togetherness and support into wins, or the EFF doesn’t translate that raised stage into raised electoral success.
The arts are important for building power, but more important is the ability to translate that power into momentum to dream of the future we want, to fight hard together, to build real solidarity not only in the beautiful moments but in the mundane and painful daily struggles.
The feelings created through the power of the arts are not enough. Power must be built for a purpose. Because without purpose, power, regardless of how beautifully it was created, will be hollow at best and futile at worst.
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Music is most powerful when done as a collective
Image: Alaister Russell
This week South Africans were unexpectedly reminded of the ability of the arts to build collective consciousness and power. During preparations for their second Women’s World Cup match in New Zealand, Banyana Banyana blessed the nation with a rendition of a gwijo, a song, Athandwe. Capturing the hearts and imagination of South African supporters, the team filled their locker room and our TikTok algorithms with a heartfelt and melodic love song. Athandwe has nothing to do with soccer.
It is not a song about going to battle on the field. It is not a song of struggle. It is a long song. A collective love song sung in unison, with a gentle but strong call to action to go forward together. Its effect, however, was that many people who never supported Banyana Banyana before are now watching the team, naming the players and felt attached to their cause to win.
What was so powerful about this singing that it rippled through the nation and animated our support as people? It is art building consciousness and power.
Like politics, music is most powerful when done as a collective.
When people sing together it is not only the meaning of the lyrics that brings them together, but also the patience and care that it takes to hear each other, find a common voice and feel connected as melodies meet each other in the air and marry the expressions of each distinct voice into a single harmony that make the individuals indistinguishable.
The individual still matters in the collective expression, but matters not for its own beauty or purpose, it matters for the betterment of the collective effort. No one can be left behind. If one person misses a beat or goes off tune, it affects the whole. Making music together is a physical reminder that we all matter in the making of better presents and futures.
Similarly to music bringing supporters closer to a soccer team, the arts have historically been central to South African politics, uniting masses of people to share common ideas and to connect at deeper and profoundly human levels in the course of struggle. The ANC’s long tradition of struggle songs lives on in the organisation today.
The EFF in its lead up to and culmination of its 10th birthday celebration doubled down on its connection to that tradition by using the arts to not only amplify its message but draw people into the party. Beyond the grand flex of numbers at rallies, the EFF put on a theatre play about its organisation, released another jazz hour album and hosted an elaborate music concert at its birthday celebration.
It will be one of the legacies of the EFF that it uses art to build power. The much talked about moment when Julius Malema ascended into the air on a raised stage at an FNB stadium packed to capacity, was a moment of collective art. Malema was the centre subject of the art piece, but that moment would have been nothing without the throngs of people in the background of every picture taken.
The moment would have had less impact without the energy and cheering of people in the stadium. In that moment Julius was not powerful because of his personal leadership traits, his power in that moment was collectively created by the people in that stadium. It was a power that was undeniable.
As memorable as Banyana Banyana’s song was, or the EFF’s picture perfect raised stage was, the power of the arts must be more than heart-warming or entertaining. That power must transcend the moments of song, dance or spectacle and translate into energy for action to drive change. We may lose faith in people’s power if Banyana Banyana do not translate that sense of togetherness and support into wins, or the EFF doesn’t translate that raised stage into raised electoral success.
The arts are important for building power, but more important is the ability to translate that power into momentum to dream of the future we want, to fight hard together, to build real solidarity not only in the beautiful moments but in the mundane and painful daily struggles.
The feelings created through the power of the arts are not enough. Power must be built for a purpose. Because without purpose, power, regardless of how beautifully it was created, will be hollow at best and futile at worst.
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