OBAMA SPEECH AT NELSON MANDELA SERVICE.

OBAMA SPEECH AT NELSON MANDELA SERVICE.
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.”
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 — (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.
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.”