Scars. Why are there so many open scars in South Africa? Scars left by racial capitalism, which always reopen, never heal. “The writing of our time is on broken skulls.” Lesego Rampolokeng's poetry is a statement of intent. Powerful. What happens when you shoot the English with British bullets? Outrage. The beat. We hold the truth about our liberation within our wombs, writes Rampolokeng. Mandla Mlangeni plays the trumpet. Improvisation. Rhythmic sensibilities. Eternal jazz. The beat of the broken bone. A husky voice ringing out loud and clear.
It all really begins when Eugene de Kock... wait a minute. Why are there more images of Eugene de Kock than Bheki Mlangeni on Google search? Interruption. Let's rewind. It all begins when a bomb kills Bheki Mlangeni. The entire history of South Africa can be summed up in the murder of Mlangeni. As in that of many others. Soweto. 1990s. Dirk Coetzee exposes the dirty war waged by the apartheid political police, Unit C1, based at a farm called Vlakplaas and responsible for numerous murders, kidnappings, poisonings... Coetzee, the unit's first commander, who was granted amnesty during the sitting of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. “And once again the power-monger wins”. How quickly we forget and switch tracks, writes Rampolekeng. “We don’t break the rotten walls, we whitewash them.” Bheki Mlangeni was murdered by de Kock, who wanted to kill Coetzee, but it was Mlangeni who died. Like many others. The entire history of South Africa can be summed up in the murder of Mlangeni. How can the dream of power to the people be realized when the people have been systematically massacred? Echoes of Palestine. Echoes of South Africa. The favelas of Rio. Murders in the name of racial capitalism. Confessions. Freedom and reconciliation. Of what? The music of Mlangeni is more of a weapon than its Western imitations.
A young lawyer working for the African National Congress reveals the truth and is murdered. The trumpet sounds. Powerful. If suffering is a commodity in the marketplace of truth, memory becomes a void. History begins in Africa. It has always been this way. Crossing the Atlantic. The cry of the Black Panthers to the beat of Fela. Rampolekeng’s spoken word to the tradition of all black and indigenous repentistas. Music may not be revolution but is an open rehearsal of revolution.
Dr.Sócrates for Tropical Diaspora Records®