At a special briefing to the media at his home in November 1996, Mandela explained that he had met the respective representatives of the two Chinese governments and ‘expressed the hope that within the next twelve months it would be possible to achieve a smooth transition, acceptable to both the People’s Republic of China and the Government of the Republic of China in Taiwan, in terms of which South Africa accords diplomatic recognition to the People’s Republic of China, but continues to conduct constructive relations with Taiwan’.38
His quest to persuade the world to take multilateralism seriously continued and he became a frequent mediator in international affairs. In all these circumstances he showed his usual respect for fellow human beings. For instance, shortly after articulating his government’s acceptance of the People’s Republic of China over Taiwan, he invited the Taiwanese Foreign Minister John Chang to South Africa for talks, after which he and Mandela held a joint press conference at the Union Buildings.39 This was not so much a matter of Mandela’s sugaring the pill as of showing South Africa’s dilemma that the choice made was due to the exigencies of diplomacy.
Mandela’s very last overseas visit as president, which saw him take his leave of the international community, was a trip to China. In his final speech, at Beijing University, he reiterated the imperative of a multilateral approach to development, peace and security. He decried what was happening in Kosovo: ‘On the one hand, human rights set out in the Universal Declaration of Rights are being violated in ethnic cleansing. On the other hand, the United Nations Security Council is being ignored by the unilateral and destructive action of some of the permanent members. Both actions must be condemned in the strongest terms.’*40
Returning to South Africa, Mandela was asked why he had not raised the issue of human rights in China during his visit. His grave concern for the authority of international organisations was underlined by his response.
‘Experience in history has shown that it’s not the individuals who change the policies of countries; it is organisations. South Africa shifted from its apartheid policy because of the intense pressure exerted by the liberation movement and other democrats inside and outside the country, especially the liberation movement supported by the international community. That is what changed the policy of South Africa. You can’t expect an individual to be poking his nose into the domestic affairs of countries. You must respect that, but if you want to do something in regard to the domestic policy of a country, then you use international bodies or regional bodies. And it’s a misconception to think that an individual can be a factor in influencing, chang[ing] the policy of a country.’41
Epilogue
Nelson Mandela walked out of the prison gates on 11 February 1990 into a country desperately in need of a solution to its age-old problems – problems that had caused incalculable harm. He had an idea of the world into which he was being released, but it was an incomplete picture gleaned from censored news reports and smuggled confidences towards the end of his incarceration.
Once outside, the abstract became concrete and tangible; the dust and the noise and the blood became real. Every day, during the process of the negotiations, he rubbed shoulders with men and women, some of whom were sponsors of the carnage. They smiled at him, deferring to age and something unquantifiable in a man who had emerged from incarceration unbowed and in whose eyes they saw reflected the enormity of their deeds. In the eyes of his own people, he saw the pain of trying to make sense of it all.
One of the first acts of the representatives of the past involved the generals and leaders of the security services; one of them handed Mandela a file, which, he said, contained the names of highly placed people in the ANC who had been agents of the apartheid regime. Mandela scanned the file but handed it back to the source. His vision of a new society would not be hobbled by the past. He had told himself that this project would involve all people, friend and foe alike. There was neither time nor resources to waste on witch-hunts.
Mandela was seventy-five years old when he became the first president of a democratic South Africa. His mentor, Walter Sisulu, whom he affectionately honoured by his clan name of Xhamela, was eighty-one; his other old friend and confidant, Oliver Tambo, who had returned from exile after three decades, had died a year earlier. Many of the time-tested comrades, some of whom had been on Robben Island with him, had also aged and it was clear that, even though they had survived prison, the clock was ticking.
He might have been bereft of the counsel of some of his oldest comrades, but he was bolstered by the knowledge that the millions of South Africans who had voted for the first time on 26 and 27 April 1994 were behind him. The resounding mandate given to the ANC emboldened him to steer the ship of state with confidence.
He wanted to resolve as many of South Africa’s problems as possible in the little time he had. It was part of the reason he kept up such a punishing schedule over the course of his presidency. But he also recognised that prison had made him resilient and had taught him that since he could not control time, he needed to embrace it and let it work for him.
Prison, a place of punishment, instead became a place where he was able to find himself. A place where he could think, indulging in the one thing that gave him a sense of self. And it was, of course, in prison that his vision for rebuilding South Africa into a new democratic nation was born.
Given the millions of moving parts that constitute a nation, making that vision a coherent reality was always going to be a daunting task. The first thing Mandela did was to declare that his presidency would be one term only. Very few leaders have the selflessness to do this. History is replete with examples of those who have sought to extend their stay in office. Mandela, however, made this covenant because he knew he had the support of people he trusted implicitly and who would guide him.
There’s a beautiful isiZulu proverb: ‘Inyathi ibuzwa kwabaphambili’ (‘Those who have walked ahead of you, who know the lie of the land, will tell you if the road is safe or if there is a wounded buffalo in the forest’). Mandela always had a fair idea of the direction he wanted to take. But he had two guides, both a few years older than him, to whom he would turn for advice on dangerous and risky ventures: Sisulu and Tambo.
Graça Machel remembers that when there was a breakthrough in the initial talks with P. W. Botha’s lieutenant, Kobie Coetsee, which resulted in the subsequent release of political prisoners, Walter Sisulu chided Mandela.
‘Why,’ Sisulu asked, ‘did you not engage in this sooner?’
Mandela replied: ‘I was waiting for instructions from you!’1
Before Mandela’s release, it was Tambo who was kept apprised of each move that Mandela made in the pre-release engagement with his captors. Even though the distance and conditions of confinement made the exchange of sensitive information difficult – and opened up possibilities of mischief and disinformation – the ANC in Lusaka was kept informed. At some stage there were even rumours that Mandela was selling out, and it was Tambo who kept those rumours in check.
This relationship, and Mandela’s trustworthiness, convinced the ANC to use Mandela’s image and iconic status – even though he was ‘legally’ a non-person – as the face of its international campaigns. His name, therefore, and the different graphics of his face, became synonymous with the struggle against apartheid. In the camps, very few leaders have had liberation songs composed in their honour. When Mandela was released from prison, many a beneficiary of apartheid, who had expected a caricature of a bloodthirsty avenger, was instead confronted with an exemplar of reconciliation. Revenge they expected, as they knew what they had done to him. But Mandela did not conform to their image of him. On the other side of the fence, the antics of their heroes, Botha and his extreme shadow, Eugene Terre’Blanche, suddenly seemed unacceptable.
World leaders from countries that they admired were beating a steady path to this ex-prisoner’s door. It was the same with the rich and famous. At home and abroad, wherever Mandela went, he attracted vast c
rowds and adulation.
But all the renown, the celebrity status, was in the service of the people of South Africa. Despite the glitter, many things were achieved. Mandela’s grace delivered where bellicosity would likely have reduced South Africa to ashes. The right wing – including those who believed that civil war would have led to some mutual respect among the belligerents – was armed and champing at the bit. Mandela quickly and calmly neutralised that faction. It was a classic manoeuvre, one that should be emulated in other areas of conflict.
Could he have carried out the work of reconciliation differently?
Perhaps. Perceptions matter. When people see you with Betsie Verwoerd or P. W. Botha – and the context is unclear, or the symbolism is lost in the clamour – then they might well jump to conclusions. Black South Africans have a long history of being betrayed and needed constant reminders that their brightest son did not desert them.
In addition – and this has to be said – there might have been elements within the ANC who, for whatever purpose, found a reason to sponsor the view that Mandela had lost touch with the ordinary person. This, of course, was shrugged off by those who understood that the ANC was, as has been repeatedly said, a broad church. And it was an expression of doubt that Mandela himself would have appreciated. He sought, throughout, to tell the world that he was not a saint, ‘even on the basis of an earthly definition of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying’.2
* * *
There was a poignant symmetry to Mandela’s life. On the first day in the Union Buildings as president in 1994, the area had seemed lifeless and forlorn as he walked along the corridor to what was to be his office for the next five years. On the last day, in 1999, when he was no longer the president of South Africa, the building was deserted when he went to collect his personal effects.3 It was a public holiday, the afternoon of the day Thabo Mbeki was inaugurated as president.
There had been many farewells before this day. Taking leave as president from the people of South Africa and from countries and multilateral organisations across the world, Mandela conjured up a life of quiet reflection spent in his home village in the countryside. From that idyllic vantage point, he would watch developments, concerned at the problems facing South Africa and the world but nevertheless hopeful that leaders would rise to the challenges of peace, equity and development. It was going to be time for him to enjoy life in a way that the pressures of governing, and his life as an activist before that, had simply rendered impossible.
The long goodbye had begun at the time of the ANC’s 1997 national conference. In a television interview the evening before the conference, Mandela bared his feelings as he prepared to step down from the leadership of the ANC. He said:
‘One of the things I have missed very much is the opportunity to sit down and think. The tight programme that I have, as president of the organisation, does not allow me that opportunity. I also miss the opportunity to read, which I had in prison, as ironical as that might appear to be. But the opportunity to sit down and think is part and parcel of your political work and I have missed that tremendously. And finally, the opportunity for me to sit down with my children and grandchildren and to listen to their dreams and to try and help them as much as possible.’4
When he closed the ANC conference in Mafikeng, it was as if he were envisioning his home village. ‘I look forward to that period,’ he said, ‘when I will be able to wake up with the sun; to walk the hills and valleys of Qunu in peace and tranquillity.’5
During the last year of his presidency, he took that image along to diverse countries and communities, from the UN General Assembly to a crowd of people gathered in the street during an election walkabout.
‘Every one of you knows that I’m stepping down as president of this country, and I’m walking around just to say goodbye to all of you and to thank you for the support and even love that you have given me. I am going to my country village. That is where I’m going to be because I am essentially a country boy. I want to see a blade of grass, I want to see the birds as they are flying around, and I want to listen to the noise of the streams.’6
There was a mix of lightness and pathos among the MPs and guests at the final session of Parliament as Mandela recounted for the last time what had been achieved and what was still to be done. As always, he emphasised that South Africa’s progress was the result of collective effort, which would continue.
‘Each historical period,’ he said, ‘defines the specific challenges of national progress and leadership; and no man is an island.
‘And for me, personally, I belong to the generation of leaders for whom the achievement of democracy was the defining challenge.
‘I count myself fortunate in not having had to experience the rigours of exile and decades of underground and mass struggles that consumed the lives of such giants as Oliver Tambo, Anton Lembede, Duma Nokwe, Moses Kotane, and J. B. Marks, Robert Sobukwe and Zephania Mothopeng, Oscar Mpetha, Lilian Ngoyi, Bishop Alpheus Zulu, Bram Fischer, Helen Joseph, Alex La Guma, Yusuf Dadoo and Monty Naicker.* Unfortunately, Steve Biko passed away in his youth, but he was a rising star. If he had been given the chance, I would have counted him among these.
‘I count myself fortunate that, amongst that generation, history permitted me to take part in South Africa’s transition from that period into the new era whose foundation we have been laying together.
‘I hope that decades from now, when history is written, the role of that generation will be appreciated and that I will not be found wanting against the measure of their fortitude and vision. Indeed, Madam Speaker, I have noted with deep gratitude, the generous praise that has often been given to me as an individual. But let me state this:
‘To the extent that I have been able to achieve anything, I know that this is because I am the product of the people of South Africa.
‘I am the product of the rural masses who inspired in me the pride in our past and the spirit of resistance.
‘I am the product of the workers of South Africa who, in the mines, factories, fields and offices of our country, have pursued the principle that the interests of each are founded in the common interest of all.
‘I am the product of South Africa’s intelligentsia of every colour, who have laboured to give our society knowledge of itself and to fashion our people’s aspirations into a reasonable dream. I am the product of South Africa’s business people in industry and agriculture, commerce and finance – whose spirit of enterprise has helped turn our country’s immense natural resources into the wealth of our nation.
‘To the extent that I have been able to take our country forward to this new era, it’s because I am the product of the people of the world who have cherished the vision of a better life for all people everywhere. They insisted, in a spirit of self-sacrifice, that that vision should be realised in South Africa too. They gave us hope because we knew by their solidarity that our ideas could not be silenced since they were the ideas of humanity.
‘I am the product of Africa and her long-cherished dream of a rebirth that can now be realised so that all her children may play in the sun.
‘If I have been able to help take our country a few steps towards democracy, non-racialism and non-sexism, it is because I am a product of the African National Congress, of the movement for justice, dignity and freedom that produced countless giants in whose shadow we find our glory.
‘When, as will be the case in a few months, I once again become an ordinary citizen of our land, it shall be as one whose concerns and capacities are shaped by the people of our land.
‘I will count myself as amongst the aged of our society; as one of the rural population; as one concerned for the children and youth of our country; and as a citizen of the world committed, as long as I have the strength, to work for a better life for all the people everywhere. And as I have always done, I will do what I can within the discipline of the broad movement for peace and democracy to which I belong.
‘I will then count myself amon
gst the ordinary men and women whose well-being must, in any country, be the standard by which democratic government must be judged.
‘Primary amongst these criteria is the Reconstruction and Development Programme aimed at building a better life for all.
‘Primary amongst these criteria are national unity and reconciliation amongst communities and citizens whose destiny is inseparable.
‘Honourable Members; It is a measure of our success as a nation that an international community that inspired hope in us, in turn itself finds hope in how we overcame the divisions of centuries by reaching out to one another. To the extent that we have been able to reciprocate in renewing hope amongst the people of the world, we are grateful indeed and feel doubly blessed. And it goes without saying that we should all live up to those expectations, which the world has of us.
‘As I was reminded yet again, on the visit which I have just made to the Netherlands and four Nordic countries, the world admires us for our success as a nation in rising to the challenges of our era.
‘Those challenges were: to avoid the nightmare of debilitating racial war and bloodshed and to reconcile our people on the basis that our overriding objective must be together to overcome the legacy of poverty, division and inequity.
‘To the extent that we still have to reconcile and heal our nation; to the extent that the consequences of apartheid still permeate our society and define the lives of millions of South Africans as lives of deprivation, those challenges are unchanged …
‘The long walk continues!’7
An original manuscript page from the third draft of Mandela’s memoir on his presidential years. His private secretary, Zelda la Grange, would type up his handwritten text with her team, then Mandela would annotate her typewritten version or handwrite an entire new draft. Some chapters went through multiple drafts in this manner.
Mandela addresses the people upon his release from prison, City Hall, Cape Town, 11 February 1990. ‘I stand here before you not as a prophet but as a humble servant of you, the people,’ he said. ‘Your tireless and heroic sacrifices have made it possible for me to be here today. I, therefore, place the remaining years of my life in your hands.’
Dare Not Linger Page 38