Nelson Mandela's funeral: Barack Obama's speech

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 honor 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 eulogize 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 I, 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 humor, 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 colored

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 channeled his desire to fight

into organization, 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 chiseled 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 skillful 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 honored 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.