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‘Tea girl’ insult strips many of their dignity

Those who insist on using ‘tea girl’ as a slur against Lindiwe Mazibuko have to believe in the inherent powerlessness of black women across class, writes Zama Ndlovu

THE announcement by the Democratic Alliance’s (DA) Lindiwe Mazibuko that she will take a year’s sabbatical from politics to study at Harvard University, thus forgoing an opportunity to lead the DA parliamentary caucus, was quite a surprise. Unfortunately, the reaction to the announcement was generally unsurprising. Using the backdrop of a political conspiracy to oust the 34-year-old leader, some celebrated another opportunity repeat their favourite expression — "tea girl".

Mazibuko’s contribution to politics and broader society is rarely debated objectively. Instead, her identity and physical appearance are used to score cheap laughs. One publication described her as a "Poster Girl", a catchphrase unrelated to the substance of the article. It is not surprising that the third-highest result in a Google search for Mazibuko is "tea girl".

Public announcements by female politicians have become an invitation to spew sexist vitriol, but the use of "tea girl" as a slur against a black woman is a particularly sinister twist to the usual brand of sexism.

Referring to black adults as "girls" and "boys" is a historical relic originating from the power dynamics entrenched in white supremacist systems, including apartheid. In these systems, black people’s humanity was never fully recognised. Black people were not capable of making their own choices, including voting. "Tea girl", "garden boy" and similar terms were not simply terms to describe work that people did, they acted as racial classifications for those too elegant to use the "K" word. The indignity was not in the work itself but in the systematic oppression that made sure that today more than 1-million South Africans are forced into that work because they have no other prospects.

To call someone a "tea girl" you must first believe strongly that the work is demeaning. Therefore, this work is insulting to the jobholder. Second, you have to believe that a black woman can never hold a position of power in a relationship with a white woman, as demonstrated by the traditional power dynamics between black domestic workers and their white madams.

Those who insist on using "tea girl" as a slur against Mazibuko have to believe in the inherent powerlessness of black women across class. A powerlessness that means whatever work a woman does, she is merely a slave to her white master. Why else would one use the violent language of a system we toppled to shame her?

This is not an issue of respect. Respect is based on perception, and individuals have the right to decide what is respectable and what is not.

Some may believe that being a 34-year-old parliamentary leader for the opposition is respectable, some may not. Some may believe domestic work is respectable, some may not. That is fair.

This is about dignity, which, unlike respect, is not earned but is intrinsic. Dignity is the quality of value and worth that is part of our humanity. This is why dignity is a human right, enshrined in the constitution. We also have a collective responsibility to treat others with dignity and expect to be treated with dignity by them.

Every time we allow terms such as "tea girl" and "garden boy" to be used, we strip away the dignity of the many South Africans who feed their families through domestic work, child-minding and gardening.

We entrench the belief in an inherent powerlessness in black people, whatever position they hold. We make every single relationship between black and white South Africans perverse.

The elections of 1994 brought more than a promise of racial equality; they brought with them a promise that all those in SA would have their full humanity recognised, regardless of gender, race, class and other demographics. We have made great strides in cleansing our public vocabulary of racially offensive terminology. We have become quite unforgiving to anyone we believe to be racist — sometimes to a fault. But we still live with other types of discrimination.

• Ndlovu, a member of the National Planning Commission secretariat and MD of Youth Lab, writes in her personal capacity.


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