(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
Whether a documentary is committed to presenting its subject and factual material in an objective and balanced way, or whether it can take the liberty of being one-sided and subjective, seems to be a very relevant question in the context of the French filmmaker Pascale Lamche's new film, Winnie. There is hardly any new issue when it comes to today's documentary, when "objectivity" and "balance" have been the subject of criticism for decades – but still, in the case of Lamche's new film, the answer may not be that simple.
The responsibility of a filmmaker. Pascale Lamche, who previously made two documentaries on complementary topics, for example Sophia Town og Accused #1: Nelson Mandela, has hardly any ambitions of being a fly on the wall. The story of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, the South African activist and politician who was married to Nelson Mandela for almost 40 years, is the story of a woman who was condemned for her radical role in the liberation of her South African people during apartheid; about a woman who must break through patriarchal norms to inspire rebellion and the struggle for racial equality; and about a woman who has ultimately been loved by the South African people and demonized by the media both in her home country and globally. This is also her own story, told by herself in interviews with the filmmaker over two years, and supported by archive footage and comments from her admirers and supporters. So perhaps the question may just as well be: What is the documentary filmmaker's responsibility to those viewers who may not be aware of such things as accusing Madikizela-Mandela of criminal acts – including those who hold her directly and indirectly responsible for murder, torture, abduction and attacks on numerous men, women and children, in addition to corruption, fraud and theft, for which she was sentenced to prison?
Privileged impartiality. That Winnie Madikizela-Mandela is a controversial figure is the least that can be said about her, and Winnie does not shy away from this fact, although the controversial in Pascal Lamche's portrayal of her is more insignificant than anything else. The way Madikizela-Mandela is presented in the film seems to be completely in line with the philosophy Frantz Fanon developed in the book The damned of the earth, especially in the chapter "On Violence," in which he sees violence as a means of catharsis and liberation from oppression. As he sharply criticizes colonialism and post-colonialism, his liberation is primarily about liberating his colonized subject. The way he sees it, violence plays a necessary role in this fight. Any moral condemnation of violence from an indifferent and pristine outside seems like a condemnation from a privileged position, and being indifferent and pristine is in itself a privilege.
Madikizela-Mandela is charged with murder, torture, abduction and assault on numerous men, women and children, in addition to corruption, fraud and theft.
Documentary authenticity. Furthermore, the film emphasizes Winnie Madikizela-Mandela's position as kona to Nelson Mandela, a man known throughout the world for his peaceful activism, his philanthropy and struggle for human rights, and for ending apartheid. If the superficial proverb wants it "behind every man there is a woman", then the opinion in Winnie that Madikizela-Mandela had to keep fighting during the time her husband was in prison – for 27 years – and use the funds at her disposal. If every movement must have its villain who can be blamed for the darker sides of the revolts, battles and revolutions, then she was the perfect culprit, both as a dye and as a woman. On the one hand, her story fits well into the gender stereotyped picture of the dynamics of strong couples, though they are more often celebrities than revolutionaries and politicians: John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love. On the other hand, it's a whole different story. Winnie Madikizela-Mandela was so lucky that she was not judged (not openly, at least) for her sexuality or individualism, as women so often become. How could she, when she was wearing military uniform and shotgun and command an independent movement, and when she was constantly imprisoned by the South African government, tortured, given house arrest, under surveillance and placed in solitary confinement? This is precisely why portraying her solely as a woman with a partner more famous than herself, and a woman despised by her gender, would be to do her a bear service. Maybe not directly, but in the feminist sense that it deprives her of her position as an independent human being who takes responsibility for her actions. The answer may lie somewhere in the film's self-reflection. The dissatisfaction of Winnie the act can be justified instead of questioning the documentary authenticity in general, but perhaps, as a specific film, it would benefit from being open about just that.
