To Graça Machel and the Mandela
family; to President Zuma and members of the government; to heads of state and
government, past and present; distinguished guests - it is a singular honour to
be with you today, to celebrate a life unlike any other. To the people of South
Africa – people of every race and walk of life – the world thanks you for
sharing Nelson Mandela with us. His struggle was your struggle. His triumph was
your triumph. Your dignity and hope found expression in his life, and your
freedom, your democracy is his cherished legacy.
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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