Read Obama's Speech At Mandela's Memorial Service
It is hard to eulogise any man – to capture in words not
just the facts and the dates that make a life, but the essential truth of a
person – their private joys and sorrows; the quiet moments and unique qualities
that illuminate someone's soul. How much harder to do so for a giant of
history, who moved a nation toward justice, and in the process moved billions
around the world.
Born during world war one, far from the corridors of power,
a boy raised herding cattle and tutored by elders of his Thembu tribe – Madiba
would emerge as the last great liberator of the 20th century. Like Gandhi, he
would lead a resistance movement – a movement that at its start held little
prospect of success. Like King, he would give potent voice to the claims of the
oppressed, and the moral necessity of racial justice. He would endure a brutal
imprisonment that began in the time of Kennedy and Khrushchev, and reached the
final days of the Cold War. Emerging from prison, without force of arms, he
would – like Lincoln – hold his country together when it threatened to break
apart. Like America's founding fathers, he would erect a constitutional order
to preserve freedom for future generations – a commitment to democracy and rule
of law ratified not only by his election, but by his willingness to step down
from power.
Given the sweep of his life, and the adoration that he so
rightly earned, it is tempting then to remember Nelson Mandela as an icon,
smiling and serene, detached from the tawdry affairs of lesser men. But Madiba
himself strongly resisted such a lifeless portrait. Instead, he insisted on
sharing with us his doubts and fears; his miscalculations along with his
victories. "I'm not a saint," he said, "unless you think of a
saint as a sinner who keeps on trying."
It was precisely because he could admit to imperfection –
because he could be so full of good humour, even mischief, despite the heavy
burdens he carried – that we loved him so. He was not a bust made of marble; he
was a man of flesh and blood – a son and husband, a father and a friend. That
is why we learned so much from him; that is why we can learn from him still.
For nothing he achieved was inevitable. In the arc of his life, we see a man
who earned his place in history through struggle and shrewdness; persistence
and faith. He tells us what's possible not just in the pages of dusty history
books, but in our own lives as well.
Mandela showed us the power of action; of taking risks on
behalf of our ideals. Perhaps Madiba was right that he inherited, "a proud
rebelliousness, a stubborn sense of fairness" from his father. Certainly
he shared with millions of black and coloured South Africans the anger born of,
"a thousand slights, a thousand indignities, a thousand unremembered
moments … a desire to fight the system that imprisoned my people".
But like other early giants of the ANC – the Sisulus and
Tambos – Madiba disciplined his anger; and channelled his desire to fight into
organisation, and platforms, and strategies for action, so men and women could
stand-up for their dignity. Moreover, he accepted the consequences of his
actions, knowing that standing up to powerful interests and injustice carries a
price. "I have fought against white domination and I have fought against
black domination," he said at his 1964 trial. "I've cherished the
ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in
harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for
and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to
die."
Mandela taught us the power of action, but also ideas; the
importance of reason and arguments; the need to study not only those you agree
with, but those who you don't. He understood that ideas cannot be contained by
prison walls, or extinguished by a sniper's bullet. He turned his trial into an
indictment of apartheid because of his eloquence and passion, but also his
training as an advocate. He used decades in prison to sharpen his arguments,
but also to spread his thirst for knowledge to others in the movement. And he
learned the language and customs of his oppressor so that one day he might
better convey to them how their own freedom depended upon his.
Mandela demonstrated that action and ideas are not enough;
no matter how right, they must be chiselled into laws and institutions. He was
practical, testing his beliefs against the hard surface of circumstance and
history. On core principles he was unyielding, which is why he could rebuff
offers of conditional release, reminding the Apartheid regime that,
"prisoners cannot enter into contracts". But as he showed in painstaking
negotiations to transfer power and draft new laws, he was not afraid to
compromise for the sake of a larger goal. And because he was not only a leader
of a movement, but a skilful politician, the Constitution that emerged was
worthy of this multiracial democracy; true to his vision of laws that protect
minority as well as majority rights, and the precious freedoms of every South
African.
Finally, Mandela understood the ties that bind the human
spirit. There is a word in South Africa – Ubuntu – that describes his greatest
gift: his recognition that we are all bound together in ways that can be
invisible to the eye; that there is a oneness to humanity; that we achieve
ourselves by sharing ourselves with others, and caring for those around us. We
can never know how much of this was innate in him, or how much of was shaped
and burnished in a dark, solitary cell. But we remember the gestures, large and
small - introducing his jailors as honoured guests at his inauguration; taking
the pitch in a Springbok uniform; turning his family's heartbreak into a call
to confront HIV/AIDS – that revealed the depth of his empathy and
understanding. He not only embodied Ubuntu; he taught millions to find that
truth within themselves. It took a man like Madiba to free not just the prisoner,
but the jailor as well; to show that you must trust others so that they may
trust you; to teach that reconciliation is not a matter of ignoring a cruel
past, but a means of confronting it with inclusion, generosity and truth. He
changed laws, but also hearts.
For the people of South Africa, for those he inspired around
the globe – Madiba's passing is rightly a time of mourning, and a time to
celebrate his heroic life. But I believe it should also prompt in each of us a
time for self-reflection. With honesty, regardless of our station or
circumstance, we must ask: how well have I applied his lessons in my own life?
It is a question I ask myself – as a man and as a president.
We know that like South Africa, the United States had to overcome centuries of
racial subjugation. As was true here, it took the sacrifice of countless people
- known and unknown - to see the dawn of a new day. Michelle and I are the
beneficiaries of that struggle. But in America and South Africa, and countries
around the globe, we cannot allow our progress to cloud the fact that our work
is not done. The struggles that follow the victory of formal equality and
universal franchise may not be as filled with drama and moral clarity as those
that came before, but they are no less important. For around the world today,
we still see children suffering from hunger, and disease; run-down schools, and
few prospects for the future. Around the world today, men and women are still
imprisoned for their political beliefs; and are still persecuted for what they
look like, or how they worship, or who they love.
We, too, must act on behalf of justice. We, too, must act on
behalf of peace. There are too many of us who happily embrace Madiba's legacy
of racial reconciliation, but passionately resist even modest reforms that
would challenge chronic poverty and growing inequality. There are too many
leaders who claim solidarity with Madiba's struggle for freedom, but do not
tolerate dissent from their own people. And there are too many of us who stand
on the sidelines, comfortable in complacency or cynicism when our voices must
be heard.
The questions we face today – how to promote equality and
justice; to uphold freedom and human rights; to end conflict and sectarian war
– do not have easy answers. But there were no easy answers in front of that
child in Qunu. Nelson Mandela reminds us that it always seems impossible until
it is done. South Africa shows us that is true. South Africa shows us we can
change. We can choose to live in a world defined not by our differences, but by
our common hopes. We can choose a world defined not by conflict, but by peace
and justice and opportunity.
We will never see the likes of Nelson Mandela again. But let
me say to the young people of Africa, and young people around the world - you
can make his life's work your own. Over thirty years ago, while still a
student, I learned of Mandela and the struggles in this land. It stirred
something in me. It woke me up to my responsibilities - to others, and to
myself - and set me on an improbable journey that finds me here today. And
while I will always fall short of Madiba's example, he makes me want to be better.
He speaks to what is best inside us. After this great liberator is laid to
rest; when we have returned to our cities and villages, and rejoined our daily
routines, let us search then for his strength - for his largeness of spirit -
somewhere inside ourselves. And when the night grows dark, when injustice
weighs heavy on our hearts, or our best laid plans seem beyond our reach -
think of Madiba, and the words that brought him comfort within the four walls
of a cell:
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
What a great soul it was. We will miss him deeply. May God bless the memory of Nelson Mandela. May God bless the people of South Africa.
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