Tribute to Nelson Mandela on the occasion of his 90th birthday by Tony Leon MP, former leader of the Democratic Alliance, Parliament, June 27 2008
There are some no doubt who feel deprived that Parliament has to share this tribute to Nelson Mandela on the occasion of his 90th birthday with the citizens of Great Britain where Nelson Mandela is present for the big party marking this great milestone.
But that perhaps is an appropriate metaphor because South Africa shares Mandela with the world; his party shares him with the opposition and he rises above party and personality as the most powerful and potent and positive symbol of all that is good about our country and the message of hope he offers to the world at large.
George Orwell writing about the Mahatma Gandhi - with whom we can usefully bracket Mandela as one of the select few who transcend the politics of their age and rank among the truly good and great - said that, "the problem with conferring a sainthood on Gandhi is that you need to rescue saints from under a pile of tissues and saccharine."
And, therefore, in paying proper tribute to Mandela, we should, in my view, recognize him for what he is, a demonstrable human being, albeit a remarkable one but possessed of both great strengths and human frailties.
Perhaps one of the greatest strengths of Mandela which is less recognized than any other of his towering attributes is his extraordinary sense of humour.
I remember being exposed to it at a very critical moment in my own life. It was December 1998 and I was about to undergo quadruple by-pass surgery at the Millpark Hospital in Johannesburg . A few weeks before, there had been a spat - what's new? - between the ANC and the opposition. Mandela had referred to us as "Mickey Mouse parties" to which I responded "in that case he must head a Goofy government." On the eve of the operation I awaited my fate with some anxiety and there was a knock on the hospital door. The world famous voice announced "is that Mickey Mouse in there, it's Goofy here. Can I come in and see you?" I have no doubt that his particular visit hastened my very speedy recovery.
In so many areas, Nelson Mandela provides exceptions to the rules and breaks many of the moulds in which our politics is so often and predictably cast.
In 1992, when I was the MP for Houghton, arguably the most famous ex-political prisoner in the world and certainly the most newsworthy South African political leader moved into the constituency. It was the time of my annual parliamentary report back meeting (something, which from the not altogether agreeable vantage point of today's constituency-less voters must seem like an antique relic). One of my party activists suggested that I send Mandela a note inviting him to attend the function. This I did, and also attached to the invitation a chocolate cake welcoming him to the area. I hardly expected either his attendance or an acknowledgement. The night after the meeting, I returned home quite late and was amazed to find a message on my answering machine. It was Mandela (I first assumed it was a friend doing an impressive imitation of what was, by then, a famous voice.) But it was the real thing, or at least a recording of him, expressing regret at his non-attendance and grateful thanks for the cake! He also suggested that we have dinner at his home, and within a day or so, Zach de Beer, Ken Andrew and I were invited round to Madiba's residence for a meal - just the four of us. It was my first meeting with Mandela, and set the tone and atmosphere for the many which were to follow: personal warmth, a fascination with people and events, and an engaging enjoyment of debate and discussion.
I suppose the most remarked upon feature of Mandela's persona, and his performance as both a political leader and as President of South Africa, is how the deep psychic wounds which one imagined his imprisoned past would bring to the political present seemed almost entirely absent in his demeanor, actions and policies.
This is not to say that Mandela was not capable of deep anger, which he often (rightly, in my view) displayed in response to the so-called ‘third force' violence which formed a bloody and constant background to the turbulent negotiations' process. I also felt the wrath of his tongue, when we had heated (mostly private) exchanges about the Shell House shootings (or ‘massacre' as I and others dubbed it) involving ANC guards shooting Zulu marchers outside party headquarters, weeks before the 1994 election. Mandela never did persuade me about what happened that day, and my persistence on the topic infuriated him. But this simply highlighted the essence of the Mandela paradox; at one level he was (or could be), the most intensely partisan of politicians, but at another level, he was a global celebrity-cum-secular saint. He therefore, in so many ways, was beyond politics and the normal standards and criticisms applied to more ordinary politicians. Gaffes and mistakes never stuck to him, the ultimate most Teflon coated of all modern statesmen. The thunderbolt of error and misstatement just bounced right off him.
If the normal rules of politics did not apply to him, he also wore his power, and immense moral authority, very lightly. The day that Parliament first met in May, 1994 following his historic inauguration , I was again amazed that Mandela had the time and interest to call me up, late at night in my Cape Town flat for a long chat and a suggestion for a follow-up breakfast meeting, which duly followed a few days later. While the practical upshot of the scrambled eggs on offer at Genadendal, was an offer of an ambassadorship for my predecessor as leader, Zach de Beer, the meeting set, I thought a far more important benchmark: Mandela told me that while he hoped for a constructive relationship with the opposition (or the then small fraction of it which I then led). However, he also, frankly and honestly, shared with me some of his own frustrations with elements of his own organization, and invited me "to hold up a mirror to government", announcing that both debate and dissent were worthy ideals. While neither of us could, in the intervening five years which followed, live up, at all times, to the positive energy of that early encounter, Mandela was pretty much true to his word. Indeed, at the numerous state banquets and pageants which he presided over, Mandela always introduced me, with a flourish and a chuckle, to this or that visiting potentate or grandee as "this is the man who gives me all my trouble."
A particular moment of truth in our relationship occurred in January 1997 when I received a by now fairly routine invitation for an early morning breakfast with the President. Although the hour was, for me excruciatingly early, I duly presented myself at his Houghton home at 6.00 am. Mandela, after a general and lively (despite the hour) tour d'horizon, rounded off the conversation with the extraordinary suggestion than the Democratic Party consider taking a seat in his cabinet, At that stage, the National Party had exited the Government of National Unity, and the DP had made the running as the parliamentary opposition. It was a remarkable invitation, tempting, at one level, to accept since it would have given us access to power and influence, despite our small parliamentary presence. On the other hand, there was a thin line between co-operation and co-optation. Our negotiations continued, telephonically, and in person for a few weeks thereafter, accompanied by an increasing fervid media speculation.
At our final meeting on this particular and intriguing matter, Mandela determined our response when I asked him what rights, if any, a sole member of his cabinet would have to dissent from majority positions adopted by cabinet with which one disagreed. He answered that "you can debate anything you want inside cabinet, but once a matter has been agreed, we must face the world with one voice." It was what I thought. And then he added a parallel, which for me determined the issue beyond doubt: "Just like Mugabe and Nkomo do in Zimbabwe ." The DP, while noting and appreciating the generosity of the offer, declined it with thanks.
Typically, our considered rejection of the invitation did nothing to undermine our relationship, politically and personally. When the time came in 1999 for Parliament to bid farewell to Mandela, I could inform the House with utter sincerity, that paying tribute to the President, objectively a political opponent, was one of the easiest speeches I had ever had to make. I said on that occasion words, heartfelt and sincere, which the intervening passage of nine years seem only to have bolstered, as Mandela's visibility lessens but his stature increases: "You have graced this Parliament. You have graced this country. You have graced humanity."
As I look back now on the Mandela years, and the relationships it spawned, including his and mine, I am intensely humbled (not a condition which my opponents would normally accuse me of) that he shone the beneficence of his light on so many people and illuminated our nation and the wider world.
There is dialogue in Bertolt Brecht's play Galileo, which goes along the lines:-
"Andrea: Unhappy the land that has no heroes.
Galileo: No, unhappy the land in need of heroes."
Our beloved, but benighted, country was in 1994 much in need of a hero. It was our good, perhaps our greatest fortune, that our hero was Nelson Mandela.
Issued by the Democratic Alliance June 27 2008
