The article made no difference to Mandela's reputation or in the enforcement of his undertakings. A few months later, on a trip to the prison at Robben Island, which is the main Mandela shrine, I found the lithographs still for sale. A colourful pamphlet contained the same equivocation as before, and the salesman was indignant that anyone would challenge a claim made in Mandela's name. Mandela's personal lawyer, who had set up two successive art businesses (the contract for one of which noseweek obtained), was eventually removed, for allegedly swindling Mandela. I never heard or saw any acknowledgement that Mandela was the main beneficiary of a scheme fraudulent from the beginning. Or that he, as a lawyer himself, should at least have understood what he was contracting for, which in any case went on for years without any objection from him. "Teflon" is not the metaphor for him. He is an image graven of solid diamond.
This sort of episode is not supposed to matter. When pressed, many South Africans will admit to disappointments with Mandela, from his early insistence that a movement of nonviolent protest become violent (bringing an avalanche of small arms now useful in crime, for which the "armed struggle" proved to be excellent indoctrination and training), to his policy inertia in office, to his choice of a successor, Thabo Mbeki, who turned out to be an Aids dissident and was wildly unpopular even with people who agreed with him about Aids. But the point, they maintain, is the "inspiration", the prison-to-presidency story, his personal ability to endure and even negotiate, which did (at last) end the civil war (that he insisted on starting). But even unconnected to the fate of the nation, Mandela, himself, is merely "inspiring".
And this inspiration is said to work magic, to "uplift" the entire nation. But one problem is the very cogency and validity of the story on its surface. Apartheid was wrong and it had to go. Mandela, an able leader, should have had access to the ordinary political process. He suffered and planned and held out, eventually getting his own back with compound interest. But if his rewards are just, then that justice is nevertheless merely a transaction, the kind touted in familiar terms: "Had a rough time? Treat yourself! You deserve it." He is a cross between an icon and an advertisement, a most attractive object of worship on a continent where it is so hard to find anything to believe in and where there is so much material need.
The big problem is that his worshippers in the black townships were not, like him, educated at mission schools, among progressive lawyers, and at the "University of Robben Island". They might as well have been forgotten in a prison underground. They cannot even clearly picture Mandela's sophistication, geniality and other good traits or his worthy aspirations. The legend simply urges them to get what they believe is right for them, in proportion to their wrongs. They have been enormously wronged, and the biggest compensations within reach are their 11-year-old neighbour's virginity and my backpack.
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