Lee Mostert, former Mitchell's Plain anti-apartheid student activist
Dearest Theresa,
As I sit down to write this, my heart is so full, having had the privilege to know you and spend lots of time with you towards the end. I'm thinking of your strength, laughter, and unwavering presence in my life.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the 13-year-old girl I was when I first stumbled into your world, wide-eyed and stubborn, trying to find my voice in the whirlwind of politics. And there you were – a force of nature!
You showed me what courage truly looked like. Not the loud, performative kind, but the quiet, relentless kind, the courage that meant getting up every single day, no matter how weary or worn, and doing what needed to be done.
You taught me that discipline wasn’t a cage, but wings. And though I know it came at a cost to you and your family, you never wavered. You just showed up – for me, for others, and for the work that mattered.
You revolutionised what it meant to be a woman in the struggle in my eyes. You proved that "struggle heroes" could wear red lipstick and own beautiful things that sparkled and brought joy.
You taught me that grace wasn’t about being soft, but about standing tall in your power. And to hold my ground with fire, even when the world tried to diminish my voice.
Always graceful; this lesson lives in my bones, Theresa.
When I mourned, you held me. Not with empty words, but with the fierce permission to feel, to cry. You never let me hide from my grief or my strength.
There was no room for "maybe" or "I don’t know" in your world. You called me to order, demanded clarity, and refused to let my stubbornness become an excuse. Back then I rolled my eye but I thank you for it now.
And oh, how we laughed toward the end. Those moments were my favourite. In them, I saw the girl you once were – still fiery, still fearless. It made me love you even more.
Age did something beautiful to you, Theresa. The steel of your will never softened, but there was a new tenderness in your eyes, a gentleness you allowed me to witness. It felt like a sacred gift, that softer side of you.
You were always my hero, but seeing that vulnerability? It made you human. And it made your strength all the more breathtaking.
Theresa, you taught me that politics wasn’t just policy, it was heart, integrity, and the audacity to fight for what’s right. And you did it all while wearing red lipstick, owning your joy, and never apologising for your power.
Your voice still echoes in my decisions. Your laughter still warms my hardest days. Your lessons still guide my steps. You are forever my hero – in politics, in life, in the quiet moments when I need to remember who I am.
Thank you for seeing me, for fighting for me. I am forever grateful.