He became an icon for freedom
Mandela’s fight for equality was both a burden and a privilege; Michael Den Tandt remembers a great man, a great spirit,
and a great soul,
When oppressive states create political prisoners and exiles, they create powerful symbols. It was Nelson Mandela’s burden and privilege to represent a nation’s hopes and humanity’s potential. The world is a lesser place without his living reminder to listen to our better angels.
In house arrest Aung San Suu Kyi became more than a mere politician; she became the symbol of hope for Burma. When the Dalai Lama crossed incognito into India, he became a living reminder of Tibet’s occupation. When Nelson Mandela walked free in 1990, South Africa walked free — although it would be another four years before the election that ended apartheid and brought Mandela into the role of president.
More than a political leader, he became an icon of resistance for all oppressed peoples. Canada can be proud of its leading role in the sanctions campaign in the 1980s and in its decision to grant Mandela honorary citizenship in 2001. When Canada stands on principle, it can be proud of its place in history.
Mandela represented the promise of a post-colonial Africa. He represented the possibility that revolution could come without war, that reconciliation could come without revenge. He even represented the shift to an entirely new world order; his freedom and rise to power coincided with the end of the Cold War and a change in international power relationships.
That’s a lot of symbolism for anyone to carry, especially after almost 28 years in prison. And he was not a mere symbol; he was a president, and afterward a clear, constant voice in his country, his region and the international community. He recognized, perhaps belatedly, the seriousness of the threat of HIV/AIDS. His personal strength, courage, magnanimity and sense of humour were examples to people of all backgrounds and circumstances in all countries.
Mandela knew all along that he would pay a price, as all freedom fighters do. Many of his comrades died during the struggle against apartheid. Mandela said, during the Rivonia trial in April 1964, “During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have 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.”
Living an ideal can be harder and messier than dying for it. The South Africa that Mandela envisioned is not yet realized. Since the end of apartheid, South Africa’s role in the larger African struggle for freedom and democracy has not always been positive. The ANC has changed, in its new role as the ruling political party. In the last years of his life, even as he was ailing, the power of Mandela as a symbol became a kind of political commodity.
These remarkable, imperfect, brave people who become icons — the Suu Kyis and Gandhis — may begin as freedom fighters but end as their nations’ moral consciences. Their lives may be long but they are never entirely their own. The fight for freedom, as Suu Kyi has so eloquently argued, is internal as well as external. And it never ends.
When his old comrade Walter Sisulu died in 2003, Mandela half-joked that he expected that when his own time came, Sisulu would be there in the next world to greet him with a form and a clipboard, ready to enrol him in the struggle. For someone who dedicates his life to freedom, there is always another battle to fight.