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WALKING WITH
MANDELA
BY RICHARD STENGEL |
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To his fans in South Africa, he’s a symbol of how everything changed. To his fans around the world, he’s a talisman of virtue, an eternal celebrity.
Let me tell you what it’s like to stand just behind Nelson Mandela as he walks down the street—something I’ve done dozens and dozens of times. As he gets within 10 feet or so of a pedestrian, that person’s face registers recognition, then disbelief, and then incredible joy, all in the space of about three seconds. The reaction is universal.
Nelson Mandela is not a celebrity who is famous for being famous. He is famous for having done something profoundly courageous that helped change the course of history. Not all of his millions of fans know this, but they know he’s not an octogenarian Sean “Puffy” Combs, either. The veneration inspired by a figure of good is different from the celebrity |
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worship inspired by the merely famous. For those in his presence, in small rooms or vast stadiums, he is like a talisman of virtue, a human charm of altruism—simply by touching him, basking in his aura, hearing him speak, people feel a tiny bit better about themselves and about humanity. If he’s a human being just like me, well, then maybe I have the capacity to be a little bigger and better than myself. I know that sounds hokey, but I’m certain millions would testify to it.
He is the ultimate crossover artist. In South Africa, whites and blacks think, “He’s one of us.” And that is exactly how he wanted it to be. He knew that if whites thought he didn’t understand them, they wouldn’t stand with him. I’ve always found that black South Africans approach him with more trepidation than whites—perhaps the legacy of privilege is that whites feel more entitled. But for black South Africans, he is the symbol of how everything changed; |
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NATAL TOWNSHIP
SOUTH AFRICA, 1994
Supporters scale a billboard of Nelson Mandela as they await his arrival during the presidential election.
PHOTO BY IAN BERRY |
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he is the Founder, a warmer George Washington. Black women young and old almost always call him Tata—father.
In person, it’s nearly impossible to take your eyes off him. There’s a kind of force field drawing you toward him. I recall many times back in 1993, standing behind him on stage and looking over at the armed bodyguards on the edges. Instead of staring out at the crowd—as I would often motion them to do—they were watching him. I was in his presence almost every day for a year when I was working with him on his autobiography, and when I left South Africa to go back home I actually felt physical withdrawal symptoms for weeks.
No man is a hero to his valet, and few men are heroes to their ghostwriters. But he is still my hero and my friend. I saw his flaws, but what makes him truly great is his slow and disciplined triumph over his flaws. He went to prison a hot-tempered, impulsive man. Even now he must control |
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his temper and bitterness; he preached forgiveness not because he was a natural saint but because he knew it was better for his country if people thought he was truly able to forgive and forget.
One day, after a frustrating conversation in which I kept asking him how he had changed in prison, he finally said to me with a twinge of annoyance, “I came out mature.”
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