I’ve heard a range of comments about the Harare International Festival of the Arts (HIFA) opening show Dreamland. Some feel, particularly as the opening show, it should have been more upbeat. Others feel it was important to not hide the realities of Zimbabwe. I had a hard time formulating an opinion because I was in awe the show happened. Everything and every minute of the show were overtly critical of the government.

The one thing that has stayed in my mind is the performance of Dudu Manhenga. She’s a wonderfully talented singer/performer, no doubt about it. But in this case, more what’s been on my mind is song selection. Dudu performed one of my favorite songs – a relatively unknown song from 1988 by American singer/songwriter Toni Childs. If my math is right, I was 23 years old in 1988 – young and naïve. I remember the song as one of the many things which opened my eyes and mind to the world around me. Generally, my interest in music is to know what lyrics mean, the message of the song, and to develop my own interpretations of the words. The lyrics of Toni Childs prompted me in 1988 to research more about the Zimbabwean Unity Accord of 1987 and the violence during the years before. I may have been wrong in thinking the 1988 song was commenting on Gukurahundi. But I can’t help but think at HIFA 2008 the song was selected as a commentary on the ways history unfortunately repeats itself – not always in exactly the same ways – but with the same painful and unjust results.

I found another blogger thinking about this 1988 song and the lyrics are below.

what you gonna do zimbabwae
what you gonna do zimbabwae

zimbabwae is a man who tried
to teach his children what was right
but then there came a time when war
split the family from inside
he said no fighting no more

what you gonna do zimbabwae
what you gonna do zimbabwae

the old man sits and shakes his head
while the multitudes insist
where is the cause of unity
with just one thought there could be peace
men gathered in silence the same

can there be some peace on earth
can there be a love
greater than the world we see
greater than us all
it’s the last station home
it’s the last station home

you ran your heart in those days
when no-one could see days
you want to run in the wind
you want to go back inside
see no more crime in your lifetime
zimbabwae, zimbabwae
no more crime in your lifetime
zimbabwae, zimbabwae

– Toni Childs

Likely many Zimbabweans feel stuck and maybe slide into complacency. The current election crisis has left people feeling frozen, like there’s nothing that can be done to bring positive change. Also, issues such as vulnerabilities to HIV, domestic violence, gender inequalities, and others at times carry self-acknowledged complacency often due do a difficult to shake feeling that reality only allows for complacency. A couple things got me thinking about complacency and possible ways to make complacency productive.

First, I saw a Zimbabwean film The Bitter Pill and there’s complacency everywhere in the film. A married couple feels helpless they have not been unable to conceive a child. The frustrated husband goes to Canada. The husband’s best friend, a wealthy entrepreneur, pursues the wife. You feel his complacency – forex is the only way to make money and belief it’s his right and obligation to pursue any women he wants because that’s what men do (particularly wealthy ones). The film portrays a possible reality. After having sex with the entrepreneur, the wife becomes pregnant, and through meeting one of the entrepreneurs other girlfriends, the wife discovers the entrepreneur is HIV-positive. It struck me that HIV is a prominent element in the film. However, as is an accurate reality, HIV is barely discussed. Not only are the characters complacent, but the film itself, given the way HIV is engaged (or rather is not discussed), potentially perpetuates complacency. Thus, the all important question: What’s attached to disseminating the film? In a move to find productivity in complacency, the International Video Fair intends to use the film to facilitate discussion. Importantly, part of discussions will be seeing that silence around HIV may be a common reality, but silence is not the only option.

My second set of thoughts about complacency developed while reading Charles Mungoshi’s Waiting for the Rain. First published in 1975, the book is a timeless classic. Additionally, I found it interesting to think about the complacency of the father-son characters Tongoona and Lucifer; they both are struggling with a feeling that many things remain unsaid. At the same time, the characters are not at all complacent. I’m fascinated by the ways Tongoona and Lucifer are, individually and in conversation, immersed in self-reflection – about life, family, opportunities, change, etc. Perhaps this is a way of reading thought processes as an example of productive complacency. Many things in the world can and do remain unsaid, yet the thought process around why they are difficult to be said is just as crucial to efforts to bring positive change. Delving into Tongoona and Lucifer’s thoughts serves as a reminder that reality has long made many people feel stuck and limited actions, but complacency to the point of being void of thought is not a place many people have ever resided.

In a recent article in the British Medical Journal, Roger England suggests that UNAIDS should be shut down. Over the years, there has been much ink spilled over the issue behind England’s argument. Are HIV and AIDS exceptional? Or instead, is HIV and AIDS something that ought to be addressed in balance with other health issues and within efforts to improve health care overall?

I favour the exceptional argument, largely because I view HIV and AIDS – yes, it is a very real health issue – but on top of as well as intertwined with its biomedical realities, HIV and AIDS is an issue of ideology. About ten years ago an extremely astute and very cool Botswanan woman questioned my interest in HIV/AIDS in Africa, she said: Why do Westerners care so much about HIV/AIDS when Africans have been dying of malaria for much longer? Good point. Why such interest?

It started with Ronald Reagan ignoring the virus because it was (predominately) infecting gay men. Now it’s George W. Bush and PEPFAR’s over-reliance on promoting abstinence. For these persons of power and others, part of the motivation behind interest in HIV/AIDS is to use the virus and the disease as a forum to spread a particular set of beliefs which in turn attempt to dictate a conservative stance on what constitutes appropriate sexual behaviour. It is an interest with shades of both religious fundamentalism and imperialism. But of course, the two have a history of co-mingling, particularly when you consider the convergence of missionaries and colonisers in Africa. For many (myself included), in addition to addressing a health issue, interest in HIV/AIDS in Africa (as exceptional) is to combat the ideology of Reagan, Bush, and anyone else who narrow-mindedly thinks we actually live in (and/or ought to live in) a world that defines mutually consensual sex as occurring only between men and women, in one way/position, and only for the purposes of reproducing.

There are near endless cases where this dilemma ­ exception or folded into something larger ­ comes into play in our thinking. For example: Why the exception of Africa Day? As far as I know, we don’t have days to celebrate the six other continents. HIV and AIDS as an issue of ideology lends insight into the importance of Africa Day. Over the last few years the availability of HIV and AIDS medications on the African continent has increased. But this came only after 2001 when, then director of the US Agency for International Development (UASID), Andrew Natsios was hesitant to implement ARV programmes on the continent. He explained his reason to the Boston Globe and before the US Congress: Africans cannot tell time; thus, not able to adhere to the regimen for taking the medications There was more to Natsios’ hesitancies (i.e., the need to improve health care systems overall), yet his comments revealed all too common views held by some in the United States: Africa as a homogenous continent full of folks who have not kept up with the modern world. Continuing to dismantle such lines of thinking is one of the many reasons there is need to embrace the argument of exception and both critically engage HIV/AIDS in Africa and celebrate Africa Day.

When it comes to financial resources for HIV and AIDS the challenges are many. This is true all over the world and perhaps more profoundly in Zimbabwe. For example, the World Bank recently released a report entitled The World Bank’s Commitment to HIV and AIDS in Africa: Our Agenda for Action, 2007-2011

If you look in Appendix 8 entitled HIV Prevalence and Global Financing (for 44 African countries), you see that Zimbabwe has the fourth highest adult HIV prevalence rate (20.1%). However, when you look at total funds received from the Global Fund, PEPFAR, and the World Bank, Zimbabwe ranks 26th. Dating back to 2001, Zimbabwe has received US$50 Million from the Global Fund and no funding from either PEPFAR or the World Bank. Ethiopia has received the most funding from these three donors (US$1.1 billion), followed by Kenya, South Africa, Nigeria, Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia, Mozambique, Rwanda, and Namibia is 10th with US$429 million.

One can surmise that there is politics behind Zimbabwe’s significantly lower funding; particularly when it comes to PEPFAR. Launched by George Bush in 2003, PEPFAR funds only 12 of the 44 countries listed in Appendix 8. In order of most money received these 12 countries are: South Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda, Zambia, Tanzania, Ethiopia, Mozambique, Rwanda, Namibia, Botswana, Cote D’Ivoire (the range is US$857 million to US$200 million). Despite these funding limitations, adult HIV prevalence rates in Zimbabwe have declined in the last few years.

As often is the case, it’s difficult to understand why prevalence declines. Behaviour change is usually the answer, but which behaviours? How do you document and measure behaviour change? More condoms? Less sex? Increased monogamy? Are self-reported changes accurate? Or do they capture intentions perhaps not actually fulfilled? All solid questions for investigation, yet, in my view, one of the most important questions involves reactions to death; that watching loved ones die potentially prompts behaviour change. Deaths also go beyond pinpointing reasons for behaviour change. I wonder how many dollars go to helping Zimbabweans cope with deaths? And I mean cope emotionally. Even if a figure were available, larger questions resonate: It is socially and culturally acceptable to speak about death? To discuss loss and pain? To express and share the complex process of grieving? The saying goes that everyone grieves in different ways; I get a sense more often than not, Zimbabweans grieve in silence. Only time will reveal the longer-term impacts of HIV and AIDS-related deaths (as well those related to political violence). Again, I mean emotional impacts.

When there are hesitancies to speak openly about death, I wonder too if there are hesitancies to speak openly about life. Natasha’s recent blog Desocialising the self touches on a discussion forum organised by the Musasa Project where people spoke about life’s challenges, largely in relation to lobola, patriarchy, and marriage/relationships in general. I attended the forum as well and a particular comment has been on my mind, one which seems to highlight hesitancies among Zimbabweans to delve into potentially emotionally-charged topics of why, specifically: Why something in life is the way it is?

A woman asked one of the men in attendance: If you had a car that didn’t work, what would you do? Without batting an eye, the man answered: Buy a new one. The woman followed up with: Really, you wouldn’t investigate why the car didn’t work? And then continued with an analogy. Seems then perhaps if your wife didn’t want to have sex you might be inclined to get a new one (wife) and not think to ask your wife why she didn’t want to have sex. The man didn’t disagree. Perhaps he felt on the spot, but still, true to the poignancy of the analogy, the man said nothing. After some laughter that the analogy (unintentionally) equated women to non-functioning cars, the discussion continued following a line of thinking about both desocialising you self away from harmful practices and the importance of resocialising your self to better confront the many why questions life entails, including the complex and emotionally-charged ones.

I’ll admit I went to see Sandra Ndebele’s show at HIFA because the description included: This show contains some nudity. My interest was not nudity (tho I don’t mind seeing naked male or female bodies, particularly if artful and/or exuding pride). More I was thinking my interest was the crowd – who was there, as well as how they reacted. There were lots of men. Lots of cell phones taking pictures. Heads shaking. Laughing. Sure, the show spurred controversy, as I understand is often the case with Sandra Ndebele. Some feel she uses nudity and sexual appeal as a marketing gimmick. That she’s using shock value to seek attention which may result in further objectifying women. She disputes this, saying quite the opposite. As the program indicates, her intent is to “revitalise and preserve cultural traditions and empower young African women through culture.”

In this case, controversy seems a good thing, gives pause for thought. Early on in the show, my interests shifted from the crowd to the importance of understanding the details of women’s lives in the past. Not women’s lives only as mothers or wives, but the ways women shared and passed down knowledge within their communities. Women’s lives in and of themselves were dynamic, full of emotion and intelligence as well as love and support for each other. Thinking along these lines made me more fully realise that the show may have contained nudity, but the content of the show was not nudity. Rather, the content – a nice blend of seriousness and humour – is a story with multiple messages.

I see no reason to provide a summary of the story. Instead, I’d say the story conveys and advocates in ways beyond restating the plot. The story is about recapturing history; rather I should say herstory. To look back in time and see as well as celebrate that the herstory of women is not one of oppression only. This is not to say oppression didn’t exist in the past. But, women of yesteryear were vibrant. And brave. Sandra Ndebele seems particularly interested in capturing the vibrancy of the clothes women wore; that these clothes had meanings and were symbols of prestige, even power. Herein lies the present day controversy: The clothes. Sexy gimmick? Or something far more insightful? I say more power to Sandra Ndebele and the 20 women in the show. What they did is proudly present both a call and an avenue to better understand not only histories, but also herstories.

In recent discussions with several colleagues, we floated the idea of organizing a conference in Harare on sexualities. I would emphasize the full stop. Not reproductive and sexual health. Not HIV/AIDS, gender, and sexuality. Not violence against women and sexuality. Those are topics worthy of attention as well as a conference. Yet, conversations have had a slightly different focus, more an interest in exploring sexuality itself by examining, for example: How Zimbabweans understand and negotiate their own sexual selves. The rich histories of sexual practices and meanings in Zimbabwe. The ways discourses around sexuality make their way into projects of nation-building. The blending of Western and African ideas and categories in expressions of sexual rights and sexual liberation. Such a conference would continue to open up discussions about sexualities. Additionally, a meeting of the minds might lend insights into the ways sexuality relates to how day-to-day life happens, and is interwoven into economic, political, and social issues informing advocacy and challenges to the status quo.

The play Loupe, by Mandisi Gobodi, which ran during HIFA, is a good example of the ways sexuality can be an entry point to examine the landscapes and dynamics of the environments we live in. Or in this case a loupe, which is a type of magnifying glass. In the play, two brothers are at odds. One brother (Kilem) is a party commissar; he’s a comrade who likes beer, women, and power. Kilem’s younger brother (Sizwe) reveals he’s gay. In part, the play is about family bonds, while portraying a possible reaction to a family member acknowledging same-sex attraction. But the play is much, much more than a play with a “homosexual” theme. To a degree, the fact that Sizwe wants an intimate relationship another man is irrelevant. The overarching message of the play could have worked if Kilem was reacting to Sizwe having any goal he (Kilem) perceived as wrong. The play astutely unpacks, through Kilem and through sexuality, a mindset that seems present in Zimbabwe, and all over the world. It’s a mind-set driven by the desire to hold extreme and forceful power over people, ideas, and behavior. To manipulate facts, diminish individual rights, and selectively control what is acceptable. All the while building a power base to pressure others to conform. It’s a mindset that might be described as masculine, but not necessarily practiced by men only.

Gobodi’s writing is nothing short of amazingly masterful, particularly in capturing the complicated nuances of life in Zimbabwe. The play is extremely well directed and produced. And the acting . . . the performances were so powerful that when I saw the young man who played Kilem wandering around HIFA I was scared of him. Scared of the ways desire for power is exerted. The play will live on beyond HIFA as the British Council is currently working out plans for another run. It’s a must see for anyone interested in the economic, political, and social dynamics of Zimbabwe.