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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