Mantashe shifts focus from women’s vulnerability to linguistic legitimacy

The recent debate arising from uTata uGwede Mantashe’s remarks has generated important discussions about language, accountability and public leadership. 

What I find particularly fascinating, however, is not the criticism itself but the manner in which the debate has evolved. A question concerning allegations of exploitation, power and vulnerability has gradually become a discussion about language, and more specifically, a discussion about whether a particular expression is acceptable in isiXhosa. Following criticism of his remarks, Mantashe stated that isiXhosa linguists agreed that there was nothing wrong with what he had said. 

As a scholar of African languages, an isiXhosa speaker and a young black woman, I am interested less in the legitimacy of a word and more in what this moment reveals about how language itself is understood.

The journalist’s question concerned allegations that women seeking employment opportunities were being asked for sexual favours by men occupying positions of authority. The issue before the public was therefore one of power. It was a question concerning the vulnerability of women who may find themselves dependent upon those who control access to economic opportunities. It was also a question concerning the conduct of men alleged to have abused positions of authority. 

Yet, the subsequent debate became centred on language.

Reducing language to vocabulary

This development is interesting because it reveals a particular understanding of language, namely that language is primarily a collection of words whose legitimacy can be established through reference to vocabulary and grammar. Once a word is shown to exist within a language, the matter is assumed to be settled. However, African language scholarship has long warned against reducing language to vocabulary alone.

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o reminds us that language is not merely a means of communication but also “a carrier of culture”. He further argues that language as culture constitutes “the collective memory bank of a people’s experience in history”. These observations are important because they compel us to move beyond a dictionary understanding of language. 

Language does not merely provide words with which to describe the world. Rather, it transmits systems of knowledge through which communities understand themselves, organise social life and regulate relationships.

It is from this perspective that I find the current debate somewhat limited.

The attention afforded to language arises largely from Mantashe’s own defence of the remarks, wherein he stated that isiXhosa linguists agreed that there was nothing wrong with what he had said. Consequently, a considerable amount of public energy has been directed towards questions of linguistic legitimacy. 

However, the issue that interests me is not whether a particular lexical item exists within isiXhosa. The issue is whether the discussion adequately engages the cultural, historical and social knowledge carried by the language itself.

Ukuhlonipha

One of the forms of knowledge carried by isiXhosa is ukuhlonipha.

The practise of ukuhlonipha extends beyond manners and etiquette. It is a system of social knowledge that informs relationships, social conduct and linguistic practice. It guides how elders and younger people relate to one another. It informs how difficult conversations are approached. It shapes how speakers engage with sensitive matters. Importantly, it teaches that language cannot be divorced from context.

This is why isiXhosa, like many African languages, has historically developed traditions of circumlocution around intimate subjects. References such as usisi and igusha when referring to the anatomy of women did not emerge accidentally. They emerged from a linguistic culture that recognised the relationship between language, dignity and respect. The existence of such expressions illustrates that African languages have never been concerned merely with naming things. They have also been concerned with the social consequences of how things are named.

For this reason, I find it difficult to reduce the discussion to whether isibumbu is a legitimate isiXhosa word. Such a question seems too narrow to capture what is at stake. The issue before us is not a word in isolation, but an utterance in context. More specifically, it is the phrase “Ungandifaki kwizinto zesibumbu mna” as a response to a question concerning women, exploitation and power.

It is here that my discomfort arises: Iyalumeza intetho kaTata uMantashe. 

Allegations of exploitation

The journalist’s question was not about female anatomy. It was about allegations of exploitation. It concerned whether positions of authority were being used to extract sexual favours from women seeking employment opportunities. But the response shifted attention away from the conduct of men and towards the anatomy of women. It is this movement, from power to anatomy, that I find particularly revealing.

Indeed, one of the questions that remains insufficiently explored is why the discussion moved there at all. Why, when confronted with allegations concerning exploitation, did the response move towards naming female anatomy? Why did the focus shift away from the conduct of the alleged perpetrator and towards the body of the woman? These, in my view, are questions that deserve greater attention than the legitimacy of any individual word.

As an isiXhosa speaker, and scholar of African languages and a young black woman, I found it difficult to reconcile with the principles of ukuhlonipha that the language itself carries.

I found it particularly interesting that a discussion concerning gendered power relations was ultimately reframed as a discussion concerning vocabulary.

For many years, African language scholars have argued for the intellectualisation, development and recognition of African languages. We have argued that African languages are capable of carrying education, governance, scholarship and sophisticated systems of knowledge. It would therefore be unfortunate if isiXhosa were invoked only when it serves as a defence of a particular utterance while the much broader traditions of knowledge embedded within the language itself are overlooked. 

Senzeni na isiXhosa?

Especially when this is being done in particular by those in positions of power, such as uTata uMantashe. I don’t remember watching any parliamentary debate or formal engagement of the government where Mantashe used isiXhosa as a primary means of communication to communicate important government decisions and/or programmes, centring isiXhosa as a legitimate language of business and government. Yet, when confronted with having to account for his utterances, he invokes isiXhosa to his defence – senzeni na isiXhosa?

The question before the public remains unanswered. The journalist’s question concerned allegations that women seeking employment opportunities were being asked for sexual favours by individuals who were alleged to be ANC councillors. 

The issue before the country was therefore not one of vocabulary, but whether such conduct is consistent with the values of the ANC and what the organisation’s position is regarding allegations of sex-for-jobs involving its public representatives. 

It is that question, rather than debates about linguistic legitimacy, that ought to have remained at the centre of the discussion.

Oh, Sinelishwa IsiXhosa!

Ndim, uBhelekazi. DM