Nelson Mandela must become the new South Africa's George Washington and also its Abraham Lincoln
by Eric Ransdell, Jerelyn Eddings
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At political rallies he is treated like a pop star. Young girls scream, young men shout his name and everyone from small children to the elderly pushes closer to get a glimpse of the man affectionately known by his clan name: "Madiba." When he ascends the speaker's podium, the roar of the crowd is deafening. Then he begins speaking, patiently and slowly, like a schoolteacher on the first day of class.
For the last four years, in stadiums and community halls, on farms and on threadbare soccer fields, Nelson Mandela has traveled South Africa and the world promoting his vision of racial reconciliation. His tireless campaigning and his undying commitment to the cause of nonracialism have won him a Nobel Peace Prize and made him a global symbol of hope in a post-cold-war era of ethnic strife and instability. But now, with the elections behind him, Mandela must transform the dream that has sustained him into the reality of a new, multiracial South Africa.
Realizing that dream will require Mandela to be both the father of his reborn country and the healer of its wounds: South Africa's George Washington and also its Abraham Lincoln. His many admirers believe he may be the only man capable of pulling off such a feat. "There is no person as acceptable to the majority of South Africans as Nelson Mandela," says Mac Maharaj, a top strategist in Mandela's African National Congress and a former prisoner on Robben Island, where the new president served most of his 27 years as a political prisoner.
In the four years since he emerged from prison, he has led the push for democracy with a determination and vision that have left his leadership unchallenged. Although he lives in the upper-class Johannesburg suburb of Houghton, he has retained the respect of his country's impoverished masses. On occasions such as the 1993 assassination of popular ANC leader Chris Hani, he combined militancy with diplomacy, urging his followers to channel their anger toward the task of nation building.
The former political prisoner has met with the general staffs of both the South African Defense Force and the national police force, which some suspect has secretly collaborated with white extremists and with Inkatha Party militants, and also held talks with leaders of the right-wing Broederbund, with Freedom Front leader Gen. Constand Viljoen and with Conservative Party leader Ferdie Hartzenberg. Talking to foreign reporters last week, Mandela said he does not intend to ban extremist white organizations the way the apartheid government banned the ANC. "It is better to deal with organizations like that above ground," Mandela said.
At the same time, however, Mandela made it clear that he will not tolerate insubordination in his own coalition government. "If I am the president, I am the president," he told reporters. "No minister is going to do something which is contrary to the decision of the government of national unity."
Tall and dignified, with an erect, almost regal bearing, Mandela seems to have been cast for his role. "Right from the outset Nelson had a presence; he always made an impression on anybody that met him because of his sincerity and strong will," says Amina Cachalia, a veteran activist who has known Mandela since the 1940s, when he first emerged as a dashing young figure on the political and social scenes.
Born to lead. He arrived in Johannesburg from the Transkei, where he was raised to be a chief of the Thembu, a subtribe of the Xhosas, who are South Africa's second-largest tribe (after the Zulus) and who dominate the country's Eastern Cape region. At Fort Hare University, he met the man who would be his lifelong compatriot, Oliver Tambo. The two opened the country's first black law practice and together led the young turks who transformed the African National Congress from an elitist moderate organization to one of mass struggle.
When the ANC was banned by the white government in 1960, Mandela went underground and became the first commander of a newly formed guerrilla wing, Spear of the Nation. In 1962, after American CIA agent Millard Shirley tipped off security officials, Mandela was arrested while disguised as a chauffeur outside the town of Howick in Natal.
Convicted in 1964 along with eight others of conspiracy to overthrow the government, Mandela made a courtroom speech that remains one of this century's most impassioned pleas for racial tolerance. "I have fought against white domination, I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all people live together in harmony and with equal opportunities," he said. He repeated those comments during his final campaign rally in Durban last week.
In prison Mandela remained faithful to the cause, shunning government offers of conditional release until 1990, when F.W. de Klerk released him unconditionally and began negotiations.
Mandela often says he has few regrets about his prison years, but his deepest source of sadness is the toll his incarceration took on his family: His wife, Winnie, was hounded and harassed for decades, and his daughters grew up without a father's guidance. The marriage came apart after Mrs. Mandela's 1991 conviction for kidnapping and assault and reports of her involvement with a younger man. She was sidelined by the ANC in 1991 but staged a comeback last year when she was elected president of the ANC Women's League.
At 75, Mandela is one of the oldest leaders to be elected president in this century. Though he suffered from tuberculosis in prison, he remains healthy and arises each day at 4:30 to exercise and eat a traditional South African breakfast of cold porridge and fruit. Those closest to him say it is his democratic dream that drives him. "We stand for majority rule, but we don't stand for black majority rule," he reminded the crowd of 150,000 in Durban. "What we stand for is the result of a democratic process."
