There
is a perennial debate about the extent to which we are products of our
formative experiences or as William Ernest Henley put it, “masters of our
fates”. I have always wondered whether
the truth is not to be found somewhere in between these polar standpoints. Nevertheless, I can never deny how profoundly
indebted my view of the world is to the events surrounding the improbable
transition of my country, South Africa. A transition from that much-maligned
pariah state to an enduring symbol that there are other ways of navigating
disruptive societal change than the well-trodden path of needless bloodshed.
I was twelve years old when Nelson Mandela was released from prison, amid a palpable air of triumph and jubilant expectation, all of which was inspiring and perplexing, all at once. You see when I grew up, the name “Mandela” was akin to a swear word, always mentioned in hushed tones as if the very walls were co-conspirators in the sinister web of the Apartheid intelligence apparatus. One thus had a sketchy picture of who this man was, let alone what it was that qualified him for such notoriety.
I was twelve years old when Nelson Mandela was released from prison, amid a palpable air of triumph and jubilant expectation, all of which was inspiring and perplexing, all at once. You see when I grew up, the name “Mandela” was akin to a swear word, always mentioned in hushed tones as if the very walls were co-conspirators in the sinister web of the Apartheid intelligence apparatus. One thus had a sketchy picture of who this man was, let alone what it was that qualified him for such notoriety.
Upon
his release I stood as before an entirely new world to be discovered.
The journey
of discovery would be interposed between a sudden interest in the opposite
sex, typical of the infamous period where childhood intersects adulthood, and a
cavernous period in my country’s history. Thus the fanciful pursuits of budding
adulthood were for me amid the backdrop of a forbidding cloud of
uncertainty that hung forebodingly over my country, bringing with it
intermittent rumours of inexorable doom.
With
time it became clear why such oppressive anxiety had engulfed us. The events of
human history had formed a credible picture in our collective consciousness, of
what awaits generations who bear the unenviable responsibility of navigating
such treacherous terrain. No less when that path is before a backdrop of a
history draped in murderous blood as ours was.
Let me not regale
you with how we transitioned from the appearance of ineluctable disaster to a
difficult era of national reconciliation we must now navigate. I will leave that to the countless
commentaries, movies and books that do an expert job of it. What I will tell you, is what they never can,
how growing up in such historic times of so troubled a land, came to shape the
prism through which I see the world and the path I would choose for myself in
it.
I cannot tell you whether my idealism is a matter of nature or nurture. What I know is the enormous debt I owe to a pantheon of nameless indefatigable idealists who splatter the pages of my country’s troubled history, of whom Nelson Mandela is but one recognisable figure. The triumphant jubilation that greeted my coming of age was perhaps an unsuspecting tribute to these heroes and heroines who eschewed the well-worn path of self-preservation and self-interest to give themselves instead to a cause bigger than their own lives. Their lives heroically adorned “ubuntu”, the South African idea that to be truly human is possible only in community with other people. Many of them would pay the ultimate price for the liberties I’m now tempted to take for granted.
I have thus come to see my life as an indivisible part of a social whole that transcends both space and time. I was born into a story that predated my life by years without number. A story that will continue untroubled after I meet the fate of every man. History will remember me less for my personal achievements and accumulation of countless artefacts and more for how I contribute toward the tangible improvement of the lives of my fellow sojourners on this fleeting journey.
My country’s transition into the democratic era was a summit of centuries of a long upward climb and so deserved every bit of the adulation it received. What was nonetheless less clear then and jarringly obvious now, is the extent of the work that awaits a nation that must build upon the ruins of centuries of devastation. It is within this story that I locate my existence. I am a child of these ground shaking historical events.
I cannot tell you whether my idealism is a matter of nature or nurture. What I know is the enormous debt I owe to a pantheon of nameless indefatigable idealists who splatter the pages of my country’s troubled history, of whom Nelson Mandela is but one recognisable figure. The triumphant jubilation that greeted my coming of age was perhaps an unsuspecting tribute to these heroes and heroines who eschewed the well-worn path of self-preservation and self-interest to give themselves instead to a cause bigger than their own lives. Their lives heroically adorned “ubuntu”, the South African idea that to be truly human is possible only in community with other people. Many of them would pay the ultimate price for the liberties I’m now tempted to take for granted.
I have thus come to see my life as an indivisible part of a social whole that transcends both space and time. I was born into a story that predated my life by years without number. A story that will continue untroubled after I meet the fate of every man. History will remember me less for my personal achievements and accumulation of countless artefacts and more for how I contribute toward the tangible improvement of the lives of my fellow sojourners on this fleeting journey.
My country’s transition into the democratic era was a summit of centuries of a long upward climb and so deserved every bit of the adulation it received. What was nonetheless less clear then and jarringly obvious now, is the extent of the work that awaits a nation that must build upon the ruins of centuries of devastation. It is within this story that I locate my existence. I am a child of these ground shaking historical events.
