Shame
Shame is a theme that arises often throughout the novel, and it is often used as a tool for controlling women. When Mandisa becomes pregnant with Mxolisi, she must deal not only with her personal shame in the face of her mother's rage and devastation, but also with that of the family, which has been dealt a blow to its reputation. In Mandisa's society, women are blamed for their pregnancies, as we see her mother claim when Nono becomes pregnant with Khaya's baby: "Nono should have taken better care of herself" (71). In response to what neighbors might say, Mandisa's mother keeps her hidden in her bedroom for most of her pregnancy. In her room, Mandisa suffers in silence: "I sat forlorn in a corner of the room, where I'd sat since coming home. I sat there, too ashamed to lie on the bed although every bone in my body ached from the long car journey. I feared looking as though I enjoyed or took the slightest advantage of the unfortunate situation I found myself in." (85). The fact that Mxolisi isn't conceived through penetrative intercourse—and so Mandisa remains a virgin until his birth—does nothing to lessen her shame.
Later in her life, Mandisa reencounters extreme shame when Mxolisi murders Amy. "Shame and anger fill me day and night," she writes, "Shame at what my son has done. Anger at what has been done to him." (138). Once again, Mandisa faces the anger of her community, as well as personal rage at herself and her situation. Once again, Mandisa has little control over the situation that causes this shame and anger to come upon her.
Young v. Old Generations
In apartheid South Africa, black Africans weren't able to hope for themselves or their future. They are stuck in the terrible situation the government left them in: "Young and old alike, men and women, no one is exempt from the scourge. Violence is rife. It has become a way of life" (652). This causes the traditional relationship between children and adults to be subverted. Children lose respect for the adults in their lives, particularly their schoolteachers. "The children, in their new-found wisdom and glory, have decided that all parents carry sawdust where their brains used to be," Mandisa writes, "In this new world of confusion compounded, the children are aided and abetted by adults we call leaders" (54). These leaders push the children into politics and away from school. As the kids learn to hate the government, they begin to resent their parents who they come to see as complacent about its cruelty.
Mandisa makes sure we know this—that she has little control over the actions of her son. She wants us to know that she would have kept a better eye on him if her job had allowed. She wants us to know that she tried to force him into school. On the other hand, Mandisa wants us to know that Mxolisi wasn't seen as a bad kid in his community. He was rebellious, but he was also a political leader with a cause worth fighting for.
Violence is taught
In Guguletu, as children are taught to hate the government, they are incited into violence. Mandisa recollects this cultural descent into chaotic violence clearly: "The Young Lions! We praised them... From near and far, admiration fell on their already swollen heads" (56). But according to Mandisa, this violence has led the children down an inescapable path: "Our children fast descended into barbarianism. With impunity, they broke with old tradition and crossed the boundary between that which separates human beings from beasts" (56).
From early on in his life, Mxolisi was filled with a rebellious spirit. At four years old, Mandisa recalls him reciting war cries. He has already been exposed to so much violence, as he "could already tell the difference between the bang! of a gun firing and the Gooph! of a burning skull cracking, the brain exploding" (104). She compares these children to dogs, sent to fight the wars of the owners—dogs that are sent out while their owners are safe, dogs that have been trained to know what to do: they "go after the target and grab it by the throat" (138). "It is the dog that takes the risk," she writes, " that could get hurt. Or killed. Or jailed" (138). Mandisa blames those that taught these children that violence was worth engaging in as much as she blames her son for Amy's death, if not more.
Motherhood
The writing of Mother to Mother is as much an expression of empathy as it is one of atonement. It is through motherhood that Mandisa attempts to connect to Amy Biehl's mother. Losing her son has been such a terrible blow to Mandisa's life, and she feels as though she knows some of what Amy's mother is going through. This is demonstrated clearly in Mandisa's manner of calling the other mother "sister-mother." The novel delves into what it means to be a mother, asking, in particular, how motherhood changes a woman and her path in life. Although Mandisa is writing to a woman from a world completely unlike her own, a woman who has probably lived a much more comfortable life than her own, she is able to pity this woman and the terrible pain she must be enduring. "We are bound in this sorrow," Mandisa writes (140).
When Mandisa has Mxolisi, her life irrevocably changes. She is forced out of school and into wifehood "forever abandoning my dreams, hopes, aspirations. For ever" (94). Motherhood, a state of being seen as precious in many societies, is here seen as a curse, especially for young women. Once adopted, it is a title that one can never shed, especially since abortion is not an option. Mandisa recounts the stories of her classmates dying due to dangerous illegal abortions. Mandisa has her son at an age younger than his when he kills Amy Biehl. But it was the act of having him that propels her out of childhood. Mxolisi's status as childless might be a reason that Mandisa insists on seeing her son as a child, even at 20 years old.
Chance
Chance is another central theme of the novel. Mandisa makes it clear that she believes that if it were not for chance, Amy would have lived and Mxolisi never would have committed murder. There is the chance that they might be born into the families they are born into, in their distinct positions on this planet. There are also smaller chances, such as the chance that Amy would have chosen to drive her friends home from school that day, or that Mxolisi would be standing at the exact street corner Amy's car would idle at long enough for her to get recognized. The idea of chance must bring Mandisa comfort, as it allows her to see her son as much a victim of circumstance as he is a murderer.
Chance affects other things in Mandisa's life, including her relationship with China. She wonders about this: "perhaps that whole sad situation of our finding ourselves about to be parents, when we had taken all necessary precautions, had revealed itself to both of us at the same time and place, things might have turned out differently" (102). Although Mandisa can pinpoint, perhaps, where chance might have played a role in her life, she does not begin to claim that she understands why certain things happen to certain people. "I do not pretend to know why your daughter died..." she writes, "Died when the time and place and hands were all in perfect congruence; cruel confluence of time, place and agent" (145-146).
Silence
When Mxolisi is four years old, he outs two friends to the police in what he thought was a game of hide-and-seek. When the police kill the 13-year-olds immediately after, he falls into a deep silence that he will not leave until he is six. Mandisa does everything she can to get her son to start talking again, taking him to a number of different health professionals and caregivers for their opinion on his silence. Mxolisi's silence in the face of such incredible violence and injustice can be interpreted in a couple of different ways. First, it humanizes Mxolisi and helps the reader understand the traumatic circumstances of his life and how he might be led to murder. Second, it can be seen as an allegory for black African silencing by the white government, immobilized by their combined fear and rage.
When Mandisa asks his son outright whether he killed Amy Biehl, she is once again confronted with his silence. Mxolisi is unable to confess to his crime to his mother and instead repeats to her: "I wasn't the only one." This silence, just like the one of his youth, is borne of shame and fear. We are compelled to compare Mxolisi in this scene to that of him in his youth. This comparison begs the question: does the older Mxolisi have that much more agency than his child counterpart?
Responsibility
Mother to Mother asks who should be held responsible for events like the murder of Amy Biehl. Should baby Mxolisi be held responsible for the death of his teenage friends? Should he be held responsible for the dissatisfaction his mother has for her own life? When Mandisa is desperate to find her silent son some help, she sees a sangoma with China's father. The woman speaks directly to the four-year-old: "For shoulders so tender, so far from fully formed, great is the weight you bear. You hold yourself and you are held... responsible" (108). Mandisa is told to forgive her son and to free him of the responsibility of being alive.
There are other actions to which Mxolisi must be held responsible. Mandisa never questions her son's guilt in the death of Amy Biehl, and she takes on the immense burden of the shame of his actions. She does, however, question how absolute his responsibility might be. When Mxolisi commits the murder, he is one of twenty who stabs Amy, part of an angry mob of people chanting war chants against the oppressors. Not only was he being influenced by a crowd mentality, but Mxolisi was also operating off a deep hatred for white Africans—a hatred that he has been taught as a child. Mxolisi was a political leader in his community. "My son was only an agent," Mandisa writes, "executing the long-simmering dark desires of his race. Burning hatred for the oppressor possessed his being" (146).
