To Graça Machel and the Mandela family; to
President Zuma and members of the
government; to heads of state and
government, past and present; distinguished
guests - it is a singular honour to be with you
today, to celebrate a life unlike any 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 hope found
expression in his life, and your freedom, your
democracy is his cherished legacy.
It is hard to eulogise 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 one, far from the
corridors of power, a boy raised herding
cattle and tutored by 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 held little prospect
of success. Like 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 force of arms, he would – like
Lincoln – hold his country together when it
threatened to break apart. 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.
Given the sweep of his life, and the adoration
that he so rightly earned, it is tempting then
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, he insisted on sharing with us his
doubts and fears; his miscalculations along
with his victories. "I'm 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 humour, 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 husband, a
father and a friend. That is why we learned so
much from him; that is 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; persistence and
faith. He tells us what's possible not just in
the pages of dusty 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. Certainly he shared with
millions of black and coloured 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".
But like other early giants of the ANC – the
Sisulus and Tambos – Madiba disciplined his
anger; and channelled his desire to fight into
organisation, and platforms, and strategies
for action, so men and women could stand-up
for their 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," he said at his 1964 trial. "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
also ideas; the importance of reason and
arguments; the need to study not only those
you agree with, but those who you don't. 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
passion, but also 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 customs of his
oppressor so that one day he might better
convey to them how their own freedom
depended upon his.
Mandela demonstrated that action and ideas
are not enough; no matter how right, they must
be chiselled into laws 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 conditional 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 skilful 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.
Finally, Mandela understood the ties that bind
the human spirit. There is a word in South
Africa – Ubuntu – that describes his greatest
gift: his recognition that we are all bound
together in ways that can be 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 was innate in him,
or how much of was shaped and burnished in a
dark, solitary cell. But we remember the
gestures, large and small - introducing his
jailors as honoured guests at his inauguration;
taking the 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 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 jailor 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, generosity and truth. He
changed laws, but also 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 his 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 circumstance, we must ask: how well
have I applied his lessons in my own life?
It is 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
the sacrifice of countless people - known and
unknown - to see the dawn of a new day.
Michelle and I are the beneficiaries of that
struggle. But in America and South Africa,
and countries around the globe, we cannot
allow our progress to cloud the fact that our
work is not done. The struggles that follow the
victory of formal equality and 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; run-down schools,
and few 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, or how
they worship, or who they love.
We, too, must act on behalf of justice. We,
too, must act on behalf of peace. There are
too many of us 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
who stand 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; to uphold freedom and
human rights; to end conflict and sectarian
war – do not have easy answers. But there were
no easy answers in front of that child in Qunu.
Nelson Mandela reminds us that it always
seems impossible until it is done. South Africa
shows us that is true. South Africa shows us
we can change. We can choose to live in 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 young people around the world -
you can make his life's work your own. Over
thirty years ago, while still a student, I
learned of Mandela and the struggles in this
land. It stirred something in me. It woke me up
to my responsibilities - to others, and to
myself - and 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 better. He speaks to
what is best inside us. After this great
liberator is laid to rest; when we have
returned to our cities and villages, and
rejoined our daily routines, let us search then
for his strength - for his largeness of spirit -
somewhere inside ourselves. And when the
night grows dark, when injustice weighs heavy
on our hearts, or our best laid plans seem
beyond our reach - think of Madiba, and the
words that brought him comfort within the
four walls of a 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 great soul it was. We will miss him
deeply. May God bless the memory of Nelson
Mandela. May God bless the people of South
Africa.

Obama never disappoint.
Weldone sir

Love dis man...this words are for Nigeria presidents and the so called haters of progress...may God help us

Obama's speech writers are really good!

PerfectaB: Obama's speech writers are really good!

May be his writers live in his brain. Because he reads them from his head

thinkdip:
May be his writers live in his brain. Because he reads them from his head

gbam