Why Nelson Mandela is angry

Why Nelson Mandela is angry

Gary Younge, Guardian News Service, London

Nor does it mean that he is above criticism. Arguably, he
could have done more to redistribute wealth during his term in
office in South Africa, and he maintained strong diplomatic
relations with some oppressive regimes, such as Indonesia. In
July, a representative of those killed in the Lockerbie disaster
described Mandela's call for the bomber to be transferred to a
Muslim country as "outrageous". But it does mean that he is above
the disparagement and disdain usually shown to leaders of the
developing world that the west find awkward.

But if there is something wrong with Mandela it is chiefly
that for the past decade he has been thoroughly and willfully
misunderstood. He has been portrayed as a kindly old gent who
only wanted black and white people to get on, rather than a
determined political activist who wished to redress the power
imbalance between the races under democratic rule. In the years
following his release, the west willfully mistook his push for
peace and reconciliation not as the vital first steps to building
a consensus that could in turn build a battered nation but as a
desire to both forgive and forget.

When he displayed a lack of personal malice, they saw an
abundance of political meekness. There is an implicit racism in
this that goes beyond Mandela to the way in which the west would
like black leaders to behave. After slavery and colonialism,
comes the desire to draw a line under the past and a veil over
its legacy. So long as they are preaching non-violence in the
face of aggression, or racial unity where there has been
division, then everyone is happy.

But as soon as they step out of that comfort zone, the descent
from saint to sinner is a rapid one. The price for a black
leader's entry to the international statesman's hall of fame is
not just the sum of their good works but either death or half of
their adult life behind bars.

In order to be deserving of accolades, history must first be
rewritten to deprive them of their militancy. Take Martin Luther
King, canonized after his death by the liberal establishment but
vilified in his last years for making a stand against America's
role in Vietnam.

So it was for Mandela when he came to Britain in 1990, after
telling reporters in Dublin that the British government should
talk to the IRA, presaging developments that took place a few
years later. The then leader of the Labour party, Neil Kinnock,
called the remarks "extremely ill-advised"; Conservative MP
(Member of Parliament) Teddy Taylor said the comments made it
"difficult for anyone with sympathy for the ANC and Mandela to
take him seriously."

He made similar waves in the U.S. when he refused to condemn
Yasser Arafat, Col. Qaddafi and Fidel Castro. Setting great stock
by the loyalty shown to both him and his organization during the
dog days of apartheid, he has consistently maintained that he
would stick by those who stuck by black South Africa. It was
wrong, he told Americans, to suggest that "our enemies are your
enemies... We are a liberation movement and they support our
struggle to the hilt."

This, more than anything, provides the U.S. and Britain with
their biggest problem. They point to pictures of him embracing
Qaddafi or transcripts of his support for Castro as evidence that
his judgment has become flawed over the years. But what they
regard as his weakness is in fact his strength. He may have
forgiven, but he has not forgotten. His recent criticisms of
America stretch back over 20 years to its "unqualified support of
the Shah of Iran (which) lead directly to the Islamic revolution
of 1979".

The trouble is not that, when it comes to his public
pronouncements, Mandela is acting out of character. But that,
when it comes to global opinion, the U.S. and Britain are
increasingly out of touch.