OBAMA SPEECH AT NELSON MANDELA SERVICE.
To Graça Machel and the Mandela family;
to President Zuma and members
of the government;
to heads of states and government, past and present;
distinguished guests — it is a singular honor to be with you today, to
celebrate a life like no other. To the people of South Africa —
(applause) — 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 your hope found
expression in his life. And your freedom, your democracy is his
cherished legacy.
It is hard to eulogize 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 I, far from the corridors of power, a boy raised
herding cattle and tutored by the 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 had little prospect for success. Like Dr. 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 the force of arms, he would — like
Abraham Lincoln — hold his country together when it threatened to break
apart. And 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 after only one
term.
Given the sweep of his life, the scope of his
accomplishments, the adoration that he so rightly earned, it’s tempting I
think 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. (Applause.) Instead, Madiba
insisted on sharing with us his doubts and his fears; his
miscalculations along with his victories. “I am 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 humor, 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 a husband, a father and a
friend. And that’s why we learned so much from him, and that’s 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, and persistence and faith. He tells us what is
possible not just in the pages of 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. And
we know he shared with millions of black and colored 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,” he said.
But like other early giants of the ANC — the
Sisulus and Tambos — Madiba disciplined his anger and channeled his
desire to fight into organization, and platforms, and strategies for
action, so men and women could stand up for their God-given 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. 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 he also taught us the power
of ideas; the importance of reason and arguments; the need to study not
only those who you agree with, but also those who you don’t agree with.
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 his passion, but
also because of 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 the customs of
his oppressor so that one day he might better convey to them how their
own freedom depend upon his.
Mandela demonstrated that action
and ideas are not enough. No matter how right, they must be chiseled
into law 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 unconditional
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 skillful 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.
And finally, Mandela understood the
ties that bind the human spirit. There is a word in South Africa —
Ubuntu — (applause) — a word that captures Mandela’s greatest gift: his
recognition that we are all bound together in ways that are 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 sense was innate in him, or how much
was shaped in a dark and solitary cell. But we remember the gestures,
large and small — introducing his jailers as honored guests at his
inauguration; taking a 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 his 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 jailer
as well — (applause) — 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 and generosity
and truth. He changed laws, but he also changed 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 a
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 our
circumstance, we must ask: How well have I applied his lessons in my own
life? It’s 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 sacrifice —
the sacrifice of countless people, known and unknown, to see the dawn of
a new day. Michelle and I are beneficiaries of that struggle.
(Applause.) But in America, and in South Africa, and in countries all
around the globe, we cannot allow our progress to cloud the fact that
our work is not yet done.
The struggles that follow the victory
of formal equality or 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. We still see run-down schools. We still see
young people without 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, and how they worship, and who
they love. That is happening today.
And so we, too, must act on
behalf of justice. We, too, must act on behalf of peace. There are too
many people 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. (Applause.) And there are
too many of us 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; how to uphold freedom and human
rights; how to end conflict and sectarian war — these things do not have
easy answers. But there were no easy answers in front of that child
born in World War I. Nelson Mandela reminds us that it always seems
impossible until it is done. South Africa shows that is true. South
Africa shows we can change, that we can choose 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 the young people around the world — you, too,
can make his life’s work your own. Over 30 years ago, while still a
student, I learned of Nelson Mandela and the struggles taking place in
this beautiful land, and it stirred something in me. It woke me up to my
responsibilities to others and to myself, and it 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 a better man.
(Applause.) He speaks to what’s best inside us.
After this
great liberator is laid to rest, and when we have returned to our cities
and villages and rejoined our daily routines, let us search for his
strength. Let us search for his largeness of spirit somewhere inside of
ourselves. And when the night grows dark, when injustice weighs heavy on
our hearts, when our best-laid plans seem beyond our reach, let us
think of Madiba and the words that brought him comfort within the four
walls of his 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 magnificent 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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