CNN Photo
Introduction by Marie-Louise Gumuchian (CNN)
Johannesburg (CNN) — Presidents and prime ministers, celebrities and
royals joined tens of thousands of South Africans to pay tribute to
Nelson Mandela on Tuesday, in a memorial service celebrating a man seen
as a global symbol of reconciliation.
In what has been billed as one of the largest gatherings of global
leaders in recent history, world leaders from U.S. President Barack
Obama to Cuba’s Raul Castro gathered alongside street sweepers, actors
and religious figures to pay tribute to the revered statesman who died
last Thursday, aged 95. Despite the pouring rain, the atmosphere inside
Johannesburg ‘s FNB stadium was celebratory, with people dancing,
blowing vuvuzela plastic horns and singing songs from the anti-apartheid
struggle.
Remarks by President Obama at Memorial Service for Former South African President Nelson Mandela
SOURCE: THE WHITE HOUSE
December 10, 2013
First National Bank Stadium
Johannesburg, South Africa
1:31 P.M. SAST
PRESIDENT OBAMA: Thank you. (Applause.) Thank you so much. Thank
you. 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.” (Applause.)
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. (Applause.)
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. (Applause.)
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. (Applause.)
END 1:50 P.M. SAST
