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 honor 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 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 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 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 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 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.”
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 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 chiseled 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 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.
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 honored 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.
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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