On Thursday 12 December I will present a tribute to Nelson Mandela at a special S6 assembly. I felt this was appropriate given our school's long standing and close links with South Africa.
During my research on this wonderful man, I read and reread Barack Obama's eulogy from earlier this week. Here it is in full.
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 -- 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. 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
-- 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, 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. 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. 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. 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.
Earlier this year, our pupils relaunched the school's pupil newsletter. Newly renamed as 'The Spark' - named after Dame Muriel Spark, one of our most famous Alumni - this publication gives our pupils additional opportunity to share their views and perspectives on our world with a wide audience. 
