Great Speech By President Obama at Mandela's Memorial Service
I
found this speech pleasantly poignant.
I
hope you enjoy reading it. Here is the full transcript:
President
Obama addressed the memorial for former South African president Nelson Mandela;
this is a transcript of his remarks as delivered.
Thank
you. 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 -- 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.
Source:
http://www.washingtonpost.com
