Journalism is an art. Broadcast journalism is an artistic gift. And that’s what our sister Tshidi Madia represented whenever her bold voice pierced our devices as she surgically dissected truth from smokescreen.
And surgery is the theme here. As I walk down memory lane, hoping to paint a picture of what Tshidi meant to some of us — those who, by the way, had never met her despite being industry colleagues.
Whenever a journalist embarks on a truth-finding mission, critics often prefer they pursue one story over another. Depending on which side a member of the news audience prefers to be informed, journalists are sometimes regarded as peddlers of hidden agendas. Well, it comes with the territory. And that’s where the surgical metaphor matters.
Impeccable journalistic focus
When a surgeon is performing open-heart surgery to save a life, they do not pause midway to fix a cataract or an inguinal hernia. That would be unprofessional and potentially fatal. Journalists operate the same way: they focus on their chosen story and give everything they have — even at the expense of relationships — to present the facts. For this reason, I totally understood Tshidi’s journalistic focus.
We’ve seen her grill politicians from polar opposites. The fiery Julius Malema and his right-wing nemesis, Madame Helen Zille, both received their fair share of Tshidi’s impeccable interrogation.
Today, as we scramble for strategies to mourn her shocking and untimely passing, some of us remember a debt unsettled before her soul left the astral borders of Terra Firma. That debt is owed by none other than former state president Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma, now leader of the disruptive political newbie, uMkhonto weSizwe.
During her 45-minute exclusive sit-down with Msholozi shortly after the May 2024 elections, a debate arose over whether a government of national unity president could be installed despite the conspicuous absence of the 58 MKP commanders who had boycotted parliament.
Fearless and patient with her subjects
Credit must be given to Tshidi for her patience. You cannot have a sit-down with uNxamalala without receiving a history lecture about his role in the struggle against apartheid. She listened as Zuma explained how he was side-lined from being recognised as a true hero of the people. Gifted as she was, she still managed to sneak into his thinking, turning it into entertaining television — or a podcast.
Their first disagreement stemmed from her understanding of the 4IR concept of disruption.
When she complimented Zuma for being disruptive in the elections, he almost took offence. That was before defending himself as a citizen with the right to form a political party and contest.
Tshidi quickly read between the lines — realising the concept had eluded him — and moved on. Then came her unbridled on-duty laughter when Msholozi declared he was “very sweet” and “would never harm a fly”.
“I’ll make up my mind after this interview,” she teased. But Zuma also made her a promise — a promise he is yet to keep.
Weaved her sharp wit into serious topics
Msholozi argued that a state president would not be elected “when there is a huge number that is not in parliament”.
Tshidi, ever sharp, countered: “Yes, it can be done. A 130 MPs need to be in the house. There will be 130 without your 58.”
Zuma, smiling as always, interjected: “No, no, no.”
Tshidi pressed: “I’m willing to take a bet over that one with you.”
Zuma insisted: “If there are chairs that will be empty, there is no quorum.”
She replied: “I beg to differ, but let’s wait and see. If I’m right, what happens?”
Confidently, Zuma responded: “I’ll give you a cow.”
Both burst out laughing. It seemed like banter, but it was indeed a bet she asked for.
“Please deliver the cow to the east of Johannesburg because you owe me a cow,” she laughed.
The interview moved to weightier matters — Zuma’s definition of state capture and the thorny Jabu Khumalo issue still haunting the party in court. But as the interview wrapped up, Tshidi reminded him of his debt.
Brilliant with her analysis
“Remember, if they elect a speaker, a president, and a deputy president, you owe me a cow. I’ll send you my address in the East Rand.”
Zuma, ever the dramatist, stretched the promise.
“I’ll push the cow from here through N3. I’ll be on the road, taking it to a lady in Johannesburg.”
Needless to say, on June 14, 2024, the speaker, president, and deputy president were elected without incident — despite the absence of Zuma’s formidable 58. And needless to remind myself, the lady who was owned that cow is no more — except in memory.
Banter or not, I hope Zuma has sought out that East Rand address to become an honourable promise-keeper.
As for Tshidi’s journalism skills, they remain a shining light in the murky waters we all must traverse in this forsaken world. Those who studied English literature will tell you: her ability to return to the cow motif at the end of the interview was nothing short of masterful. Motif is not mere repetition; it is rhythm in meaning.
Luminous manifestation of the journalistic gift
The fact that a young African woman could weave a motif — something many of her peers might never attempt — proves she was one with the art, a luminous manifestation of the journalistic gift.
As this sombre week progresses, we are reminded to give ourselves to the profession until our physical lights are switched off. At that point of permanent load-shedding, our journalistic glow burns forever in memory. Depending, of course, on which side a member of the news audience prefers to be informed.
You informed us, Tshidi. We love your work. May your light shine forever. We will always cherish your gift.
May your beautiful soul Rest in Power!
