Rhodes honours Nelson Mandela

Rhodes University Graduation ceremony 2002: Award of the degree of Doctor of Laws, honoris causa to Nelson Mandela

Citation by the Rhodes University Public Orator, Professor Vivian de Klerk

Mister Chancellor, I have the honour to present to you an inspiring freedom fighter and statesman, a revered and well-loved icon of the world,  former President Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, for the award of the degree of Doctor of Laws, honoris causa. Ladies and gentlemen, although you may feel you know this man well already allow me a few minutes to tell you a story of unparalleled human dignity and to dwell on some of the highlights in the life of this most impressive man. 

Nelson Mandela was born in 1918 into the royal family of the Thembu, a Xhosa ?speaking tribe, in Qunu which nestles in a fertile valley in the Eastern Cape. There, in the family kraal of white-washed huts, young Nelson spent a happy and sheltered childhood, and listened eagerly to the stirring tales of the tribal elders. His Xhosa name, Rolihlahla, has the colloquial and rather prophetic meaning ‘trouble?maker', and he only received his more familiar English name, Nelson, on his first day at Healdtown, a British colonial boarding school. The teacher apparently chose English names at random for each unsuspecting child in her class, and was possibly thinking of Lord Nelson at the time, since the famous seagull hadn’t arrived yet; but that would only be a guess. The school principal, ironically, was called Wellington, and frequently informed young Mandela and his classmates that there was no such thing as African culture, and that they, the natives, were indeed privileged to be educated by such a fine and civilised Englishman as himself.

Thus it was that early on, Nelson Mandela’s political awareness began to take shape, and he steeled himself to resist such indoctrination while he immersed himself in the very real cultural practices of his own Xhosa people. He remembers the harsh rigours of his initiation, when he was prepared for the trials of manhood that lay ahead. He remembers emerging from his long seclusion, coated in red ochre, and receiving two cows and four sheep, which made him feel richer than he had ever felt before, and, as he put it, "walking... straighter and taller ...and thinking that he might someday have wealth, property, and status." He certainly was right about that, but a long road lay ahead.

The 1930s were troubled times in South Africa, when forced removals, pass laws and other segregation bills were passed. With growing unease, Mandela went to Fort Hare University to do a BA, but it wasn’t long before his strong will and indignation at injustice got in the way, and he was expelled in 1940 for leading an SRC strike with Oliver Tambo. Already it was clear that nobody was going to tell this young man what to do, and when he discovered, on his return home, that his tribal chief had decided it was time for him to marry a suitable girl, for whom lobola had already been paid, Nelson Mandela took the gap and ran away to Soweto.

Thus, at 22, he found himself working as a mine policeman, knopkierie and whistle in hand, at Johannesburg's Crown Mines. Contrary to his expectations of grandeur, the Mine offices were rusted tin shanties in an ugly, barren area, filled with the harsh noise of lift-shafts, power drills, and the distant rumble of dynamite. Everywhere he looked he saw tired-looking black men in dusty overalls. The contrast from his peaceful rural life must have been a rude shock, and he rapidly learned the reality of the grinding poverty and inhuman exploitation of his fellow workers. Now, politics began to play a very significant role in his life. Stirred up at the humiliation and suffering of his people, and outraged at the increasingly unjust and intolerable laws of the country, in 1944, he, Walter Sisulu and Oliver Tambo formed the ANC Youth League, and within a few years, Mandela became its president. Fired with ambition and determination, he completed his law degree through Unisa, and with Tambo set up South Africa's first black law firm. Thus began the dangerous and dedicated life of fulltime struggle against the evils of apartheid. Mandela involved himself wholeheartedly in leading a non?violent campaign of civil disobedience, helping to organise strikes, protest marches and demonstrations, encouraging people to defy discriminatory laws.

Inevitably, as the people’s rage increased and repression cracked down, Mandela was eventually arrested for the first time in 1952, and experienced the other side of the dock, no longer an attorney, but now the accused. He was acquitted, but further harassment, arrests and detention followed, culminating in the infamous Treason Trial in 1958. A full four years after the trial began, Mandela gave his impassioned and articulate testimony, was found not guilty and discharged. Until this time he had somehow managed to maintain his legal practice, but after the trial, with heightened repression and the banning of the ANC, armed struggle became the only solution. Thus it was that he sacrificed his personal family life and his legal practice and took up armed insurrection. He went abroad for military training, and on his return he formed the ANC's military wing, Umkhonto we Sizwe, taking on life as a hunted fugitive, constantly on the move, sometimes disguised as a chauffeur, sometimes as a labourer, evading his enemies so successfully that he earned the title ‘The Black Pimpernel.

In 1962 Mandela was arrested for treason again, and sentenced to five years in prison. He made it quite clear that he was guilty of no crime, but had been made a criminal by the law, not because of what he had done but because of what he believed in. While serving this sentence, he was again charged with sabotage, and the Rivonia trial began. His eloquent and stirring address, lasting 4 hours, ended with his famous words: “I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony ... It is an ideal which I hope to live for and achieve. But if needs be it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die”. As we well know, in 1964 Nelson Mandela was convicted of sabotage and treason and sentenced to the supreme punishment: life imprisonment on Robben Island, that flat disc in the foaming Atlantic which represents more completely than any other patch of South African earth that which has been unspeakable in the last three centuries of the country's history

There, on a grim, overcast day with the cold winter wind whipping through him, he was met by tense armed guards, ordered to strip naked while standing outside the old stone jail, and to put on the plain khaki uniform of the maximum security prison. Apartheid's regulations extended even to clothing: in order to remind the black prisoners that they were "boys", they received short trousers, a thin jersey, a canvas jacket and shoes without socks. Indian prisoners got long trousers and socks.

At forty?six years of age, he first entered the small cramped cell in Section B that was to be his home for 26 years. It had one small barred window, and a thick wooden door covered by a barred metal grille. He could walk the length of the cell in three paces, and when he lay down, he could feel the wall with his feet and his head touched the concrete at the other side. The cell was perpetually damp, with a small pool of water forming on the cold floor most nights, which, the guards told him, his body would absorb.

Robben Island was without question the harshest, most iron?fisted outpost in the South African apartheid penal system. Permitted to write and receive only one letter and one visitor every six months, prisoners were isolated in a private hell. They were given hard labour to fill their days, crushing wheelbarrow loads of stones into gravel with large four?pound hammers, and later slaving in the heat of the nearby lime quarry, blindingly white in the sun. No talking was allowed, and whistling was a punishable offence.

Life was irredeemably grim, and a new and different fight had begun, a fight to improve the appallingly unjust and inhumane prison conditions. First, the matter of the trousers had to be attended to: nobody likes being called kortbroek, least of all Nelson Mandela. After months of wrangling and official protests, one day a pair of old khaki trousers was unceremoniously dumped on the floor of his cell, but he refused to wear them until his fellow black prisoners had some as well. And there were other battles: for equal food, for the right to wear sunglasses in the lime quarry, and for 3-legged stools in the cells, to enable exhausted prisoners to sit down while studying for their correspondence courses late at night.

Through all these little victories, Nelson Mandela did not forget the bigger struggle, and as the years passed inexorably by, the world did not forget him either. In the mid 80s growing international condemnation led to secret talks between Mandela and the government, and finally, on February 11, 1990 he was unconditionally released. Nobody had seen him or his photograph for 27 years, and the sight of this tall, slim, distinguished man overwhelmed the great crowd who came to greet him. Imagine the shock for Mandela, after years of virtual silence, of being thrust into such a public arena: his mother and son had both died during his incarceration; his other 5 children were now adults; his wife was a stranger, and, of course, technology had made such huge strides that when a television crew thrust a long, dark, furry object at him, he recoiled at this newfangled weapon until Winnie explained that it was a microphone.

Ironically, these dreadful years in prison had been enriching, and Nelson Mandela is living proof of the triumph of the human spirit against unbearable adversity and deprivation. Despite 27 long and dark years of hardship and repressive imprisonment, despite witnessing extremes of cruelty, pain, suffering and despair, somehow this amazing man emerged dignified, unbowed and unrepentant, strengthened in his resolve to fight even harder against apartheid.

He raised his right fist to the crowd, and there was a roar which filled him with unutterable joy. As he finally walked through those prison gates he felt, at the age of 71 that his life was beginning again. Indeed, it was just as well he had spent these years carefully conserving his energy, for he needed every ounce of it to cope with the whirlwind of smiling at flashing cameras, strategising with the ANC, negotiating with intransigent politicians, socialising with public figures, and giving a world of eager fans their little bit of Nelson.

Forgiveness became his chief weapon. Amazingly, he hosted a party for the widows of politicians who had imprisoned him and ate lunch with the prosecutor who had argued that he should be hanged. He sought reconciliation with President F.W de Klerk, and with him accepted Nobel Peace Prizes for their efforts in promoting a democratic South Africa. The rest you know: an interim unity government, a majority?rule constitution, a hectic presidential campaign, an ANC majority in the country's first all?race elections; and in May, election as president.

That was the beginning of his new role as negotiator and broker for peace and reconciliation. Far from seeking vengeance for those long and lonely years, his hunger for the freedom of his own people had become a hunger for the freedom of all people, black and white, and through his efforts we have a new constitution that bars discrimination against all minorities. And amazingly, he also maintained his sense of humour: getting used to the newfound freedom of the press, he was heard to remark: "I never knew how ugly I was until I saw the cartoons".  Actually, of course, he is amazingly good looking and well-preserved for an 84-year old,  and he has taken the lead in the world of fashion as well, with shirts that compel one's attention unequivocally.

In addition to his endearing face and fabulous shirts, including the number 6 rugby jersey, our former president, if he will forgive me for saying so, must also have irresistible sex appeal: apart from the disappointed would-be bride back in Qunu, there have been three loving wives, who all had to compete with politics and prison for Nelson’s attention. At last count, there were 6 children, 21 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren, and Madiba knows all their names. The only trouble is that he cannot spend much time with them, because despite officially retiring from public life in 1999, he has continued his compassionate, humanitarian work, taking his tireless fight for peace and human understanding beyond the borders of our country: to Angola, north Africa, northern Ireland, the middle East and most recently Burundi.

If old age is that stage in life when your get up and go has got up and gone then Nelson Mandela hasn’t begun to get old. He is constantly getting up, and going here, there and everywhere. He's always kissing babies, shaking hands with sportsmen, smiling at beauty queens and waving at adoring fans. He surely holds the world record for honorary degrees (with over 50 at last count), and the more honoured he is the more humble he becomes. Few people in our time or in any time, have symbolised the spirit of freedom and courage so well as this figure of monumental integrity and humanity.