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.